


One Step At A Time

by AuroraKant



Series: One Step At A Time [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Ableism, Amputee!Dick Grayson, And these people Love him, Background: Dick Grayson/Barbara Gordon, Batman: A Death in the Family, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson-centric, Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, Permanent Injury, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, and family, but he has friends, sorry - Freeform, that shit happens in my story, the major character death is jason
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-22 15:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22019263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraKant/pseuds/AuroraKant
Summary: Dick Grayson falls when he is seventeen. He doesn’t get back up again. At least not immediately. Instead he is forced to give up Robin and to learn what it means to be Dick. There is a long road ahead of him.One he has to take on One Step at a Time.
Relationships: Barbara Gordon & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Everyone, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Roy Harper
Series: One Step At A Time [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584883
Comments: 66
Kudos: 168





	1. Year One

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! ^^  
> This is my new multi-chapter fic I couldn't wait any longer before I posted it!  
> I have the first few chapters ready but there is still some I have to write, but we take care of that bridge when we come to it!  
> Some of you might know parts of this story from my whumptober collection but this is the long version of the chapter I posted over there. It is also going to go deeper into the material and span a larger amount of time. This story deals with amputation and the fall out/recovery from one. I researched pretty heavily regarding the topic but if you see something wrong or want something tagged just tell me! I am always ready to listen!  
> And now: Have fun with this first chapter! <3  
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated!

Dick Grayson was eight when his world ended for the first time.

Dick Grayson was seventeen when his world ended for the second time.

He was seventeen when the Joker cornered Batman and Robin in the rafters of a warehouse. He was seventeen when he slipped on a coiled rope and fell. He was seventeen when the rope tightened around his left leg and broke it. Ripped it.

He was seventeen when he lost his leg.

The day that would be the last of the Old Dick started normal. It started with cereal and a pissed off Bruce. It started with yawns and coffee after too many nights chasing the Joker without success.

There was nothing remarkable about it, just Dick being tired and annoyed with Bruce because he was yet again not allowed to go to a party at a friend’s house. The Joker was more important. And, of course, Dick knew that but sometimes he just wished to be a normal teenager. Maybe even one who had the balls to ask Barbara out on a date. But, no, those were bullshit thoughts.

He loved being Robin. It was his life after all. So, what if he sometimes had to push normal teenager stuff back? The mission was definitely worth it. And he would manage to ask Barbara out like this too. Plus, he would never have even met Kory if it wasn’t for the Titans and his superhero life. No more moaning and more hero-ing. Yeah, that's the spirit.

Sometimes being a young-ish hero was hard. Dick thought that each and every time he had to step inside a school. Nothing was as boring and yet taxing as having to survive eight hours of boring ass lectures after a night full of adrenaline and three hours of sleep. And yet they all did it anyway. But Wally and the rest were in college at least, Dick still had to survive his last year of High School. There were times where he wondered what would kill him first: The vigilante lifestyle or the next English exam. But ignore him, he was just a dramatic bitch. Source? Ask anyone.

When nightfall finally came and Batman and Robin suited up, Dick was almost vibrating with excitement. He didn’t do sitting still. Which meant school was hell for him. But being Robin? Yeah, that gave him life no matter how often he and Bruce fought about dumb stuff. It meant flying and freedom and fresh air (or the Gotham equivalent). It meant being so much more than Dick Grayson and yet the truest form his parents could have wished for. It meant everything.

And hunting one of the worst villains Gotham had to offer only exhilarated everything Dick felt when he put on the Robin uniform. He was ready to hero, Baby!

Maybe that was his downfall at the end.

They got a tip about the Joker’s whereabouts shortly before they left the Cave. A source at the GCPD reported creepy laughter in the east corner of the warehouse district. Once this information reached them, Batman and Robin were off. Off to safe Gotham and the world.

Dick had to suppress a laugh while they traveled across the rooftops. After all these years and all these fights, swinging from one roof to another would always make him giddy. It felt like the first time, it felt like Batman and Robin in the beginning before Dick started stretching his wings. It felt safe. What a weird thing to think about an activity that involved him flying across the sky, with 60 ft below and only one small line to hold him.

They reached the warehouse district and Dick could feel how the world shifted around them. Gone was the exhilaration and the giddiness, the only thing left was the steely resolve eight years of fieldwork had installed in him. There was no space for Dick, this was a job for Robin. And Robin had this.

When Batman gave him the sign, Robin darted off, taking a different route to the eastern corner. There was something in the air around them, a suspense that made it more than likely that the Joker was really hiding out up here. Other criminals tended to distance themselves from the Clown so Joker’s hideouts tended to be devoid of any other form of crime. Wherever the Joker went a lack of common crimes followed. Robin suspected that the Joker liked it that way, liked the attention he got in all the silence he created. Chaos could thrive so much better without anything around to stifle its sound.

It didn’t take long for him to find the most likely hideout for the villain. One of the warehouses was labelled “Candy-topia” and Robin knew that Joker would never pass up such an opportunity. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Batman closing in, too.

“Batman to Robin. Status?”

“Location secured, western entrance to the rafters located. Permission to enter?”

“No. Wait for my sign. Batman out.”

Robin had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. Batman could be so dramatic. But that didn’t matter right now. Instead Robin searched for a better perch from which he could watch their target location. Nothing happened on his side for quite some time, but that had to be different for Batman. Because his mentor finally gave the signal to start moving.

“Now, Robin.”

It was easy to fly across the silent street and climb into the top window of the warehouse. Sometimes Robin wondered what came first: The Batman or the architecture that made it laughingly easy for the Bat to operate. He knew the answer, of course, but that didn’t make it any less funny.

The inside of the building was dark except for an illuminated circle in the middle of the floor. Robin crouched down on the rafters, trying to get a better look. The circle was empty. Just a lonely light and no companion. Had they been wrong? Had Batman and Robin miscalculated?

No, they hadn’t.

Before Dick could react, before Batman could warn him, there was a presence behind him. Robin didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was. The Joker. Behind him. On a skimpy warehouse rafter. Well, how good then that Robin could fly. He twisted out of the way only moments before a crowbar embed itself in the spot Robin had just sat on. In the distance he could hear Batman shout. But it was an easy trick to switch rafter sides via climbing upside down beneath them. It took only a minute and Robin was standing again, the right side up now, in a safe distance from the Joker. Which didn’t mean that Batman worried any less:

“Robin, report. Everything all right?”

“Yes, B. Everything peachy. I could do without the Jokster over there and his love for breaking and entering, but otherwise, you know me: Stubborn and hard to crack.”

“Not the time now, Robin”

“Oh! But I think there is always time for a little joke between friends, don’t you think, Batsy?”

Wonderful. Somehow the Joker had managed to interfere their comms. Great. This night was going perfectly.

(Please, note the sarcasm)

“What do you want Joker? I don’t have time for your games”

Which was a lie. Robin suspected that some twisted part of Bruce kind of enjoyed all these fights with their villains. Not in a good way, but in the way that only someone as determined as Batman could fathom to be. Bruce was good at what he did, and he wanted to be challenged. Which didn’t mean that he didn’t hate all of his rouges with all of his heart. He wanted them gone but he needed to be the one to do it.

Well, what wonderful dark and twisted thoughts that were. Robin shook his head. No time for this today. Tonight. Instead he positioned himself on a maintenance foot walk diagonally opposed from the Joker and Batman. He had both of them in his field of vision and so had they. It was a three-way stand off.

“What I want, Batsy? Bat-holomew? Is that your name? Hah, wonderful! But, no, what I want… I want many things, Bat-holomew, I want the world to burn, for your bird to die, for the sun to explode, and for fair living wages for free-lance clowns. Aren’t all of these perfectly normal requests? Hah! Ha ha ha!”

It was always an experience to come face to face with the Joker. Robin didn’t know how the man did it, but for such a scrawny and sickly-looking dude, he managed to install a fear in his heart that very few could muster.

(If a part of him decided, that Bat-holomew was an awfully funny nickname for Batman, then that was Robin’s private little secret)

“Get to the point!”

“Yeah, we all know clowns need a union, but I somehow doubt you have the patience to found one!”

Not one of his best one-liners, but hey, Dick did really care about the lives of his fellow circus performers. Which made it all the more obvious that the Joker was no such thing. No self-respecting clown would ever drop so low.

“My point, dear Batsy, dear Birdy Boy, is that I crave a little ex-plo-sion! Have fun!”

With that the building started to shake. The Joker managed to bow down dramatically before sidestepping and vanishing from the rafter. When Robin hurried forward to search for him, only the darkness of the warehouse below greeted him. Darkness and a truly terrifying sound of creaking metal.

“Robin! Move!”

And Robin did try to move. He started to run towards the next window, seeing Batman in the corner of his eye doing the same, when the floor under his feet suddenly vanished, making him stumble. A frightening amount of his nightmares started just like that. The warehouse floor was coming closer at an alarming rate, when something tightened on his left leg. For a moment Robin had the hope that Batman had managed to come to his aid fast enough, then he heard a sickening wet ripping sound. After that…

There wasn’t much he remembered from that night afterwards. The moment of surprise, the fear of falling, and then PAIN PAIN PAIN.

It took some time for him to wake up again, in the Batcave with so much pain killers in his system he neither knew his name nor what was going on. 

The first time he woke up and was actually coherent enough to comprehend that something had happened was almost a week after the event. He was no longer in the Cave, instead a normal hospital room greeted his bleary eyes. That was the first sign that something was very, very wrong.

The second sign was Alfred sitting at his bedside and not Bruce. 

That something else was missing came to him much later, with Dick being still too high on the good stuff to feel any of his limbs. Instead he just stared at Alfred until the old man realized that Dick was awake.

“Master Dick, thank god! You had us quite worried. Do you need something? Some water?”

His throat was dryer than the Sahara, so he nodded, not really being aware of what was going on. A few sips later Dick finally managed to ask the one thing he did notice:

“B… Bruce?”

His voice was weak, pathetic, and suddenly he knew why Bruce wasn’t here. Dick had proven to be too soft after all. He had failed. In what? Dick couldn’t quite remember. Just that he had. That he had failed. Or was it fallen? But the answer Alfred gave was nothing like that:

“Master Bruce is quite busy making sure that the man who harmed you is behind bars. He should arrive soon. Don’t worry, Young Sir”

Reassured, Dick drifted back into the soothing darkness of sleep. He didn’t see Bruce that day. Or the day after.

He realized the loss of his leg later, when he shifted during the restless sleep that had infested him since they reduced his pain killers. It was two things that finally clued him in: The searing pain that shot up his left leg and the weird lack of resistance when he fidgeted with the blanket.

It was a quick look down. But later he couldn’t recall what he felt in that moment. He just knew that when he looked down, he saw something missing, he saw the space where his leg should be and wasn’t. He saw every concerned look Alfred and Barbara had sent him over the last few days.

(Bruce still hadn’t visited)

How could he not have realized sooner what was going on?

But his focus had been somewhere else. He had been trying too hard to keep his feeble grasp on consciousness to bother with trying to decipher the moods of those around him. His mind had been preoccupied with the hole Bruce’s absence left behind and those last few moments before he fell. That was the worst part, how these last clear memories were getting more horrid every time Dick remembered them. But now he knew more. Now he knew just what had happened after his fall.

And now he was alone with the knowledge that the Joker had taken his future from him. That his own foolishness had taken it. Robin was over. Robin would never fly again.

The tears that started flowing shortly after came to no surprise. That nobody was here drying them for him hurt almost more.

The next couple of days passed in a haze. Dick’s brain was trying so hard to come to terms with what was missing that he didn’t hear the tasteless promises of Alfred about Bruce. He didn’t hear Barbara’s forced cheerfulness. All he did hear was “You can’t be Robin anymore” over and over in his head. It was infuriating. Especially since Dick didn’t know _who_ he was without the mantel of Robin. 

He had worn that mantel for over eight years, had been called Robin his whole life. He had dressed himself in his family’s colors and paraded around in their name. What was left when you took that away from him? A faulty human being. Someone, who lacked the essentials. Someone… someone not whole anymore (and had he ever really been whole?).

When Barbara asked if the other Titans could visit, he shot her down. No, they weren’t allowed to see him. He had to get a grip before he could look Donna in the eyes again. Or Kory. Or Wally. Garth. Roy. 

He had to get himself under control again. But all he could do was snap at people and stare at the spot where his leg should be. There was nothing there and no soothing touch or word would change that. Could change that. So, excuse him, if he reacted a bit harsh. So, what if he screamed and threw a book after Alfred. So, what if he cried when Bruce had yet again failed to show up. So, what if he felt broken and looked it too.

The first sign of hope came upon him then, in the form of Dr. Tanja Romanova, his physical therapist. She was a tough woman, someone who only knew Dick Grayson, ward of billionaire Bruce Wayne. She had no idea that Robin was the one struggling to sit upright in front of her. That it was a hero that needed help.

It was refreshing.

He saw her every day after the doctors cleared him for therapy. It was… he wanted to say great, but it wasn’t. It was something. A start. A beginning. And if Dick had to force himself to believe in it, in these possibilities, then so it was.

He could still remember that first talk they had, her assessment of him and how much that had helped. As much as anything could have helped right now.

She came early in the morning, waking him from his drug induced sleep. He had been baffled then. His temperamental outbursts had made him quite infamous on the ward and it was rare to see a new face that ventured into his room.

(It was a private one, of course. Bruce might be unable to show up, but he wasn’t unable to pay for the best. Dick knew what he was worth and apparently that was a private hospital room instead of human interaction)

But then his eyes had met hers and he had seen the steel in them. This was not a woman to be toyed with.

“Richard Grayson, 17, birthday November 11th?”

All he had been able to do was nod. She reminded him of Diana, regal and frightening but also… warm, in a sense that both Bruce and Clark failed to be. He wanted to say motherly, but that would be wrong. It came closer to the tough love of a big sister. Someone who would die for you but couldn’t quite resist teasing you. Something told her that he would like her.

“You are aware of your situation, I take. The little temper tantrums seem to indicate that at least.”

His gaze wandered away from her eyes and instead trained itself on his hands, neatly folded in his lap. What was he supposed to answer to that? He didn’t even know her. He just knew that life was a bitch right now and that nobody had ever taught him how to deal with his emotions in a more controlled manner than punching a hole in a wall.

“I am Dr. Tanja Romanova, your physical therapist, from now on until you no longer need or want me. And I am not holding your outbursts against you. You're 17. God, you are probably a little terror without the added bonus of _this._ But…”

Of course, there was a But. There was always a But. His whole fucking existence had to be the Butt of one giant joke. Hah. Wasn’t he funny.

“I read your file. I looked at all the pictures they could show me, and with your consent I will look at your leg too, and from what I can see, you should be able to get a prosthetic.”

That piqued his interest. A prosthetic? There was a possibility for him to walk again? (Fly again?)

“Huh? A pro… really? You’re not just making this up, so I feel better?”

And didn’t he just sound like a little asshole.

“Kid, there is nothing in the game for me if I lie to you. Believe me or not, but I am a professional. And if you get behind your physical therapy and if you don’t do anything stupid with that leg of yours beforehand, you can get a prosthetic. If you like.”

“Why wouldn’t I like that? I want two legs again, for fucks sake!”

She took a deep breath and Dick was sure that he had finally done it, that he had managed to make her yell at him, that finally someone would be mad back. But instead she just massaged the crease between her eyes. Her next words would stay with Dick for ages. It took years for him to follow them, though.

“Okay, kid, I am gonna be real honest with you for a moment. The world is a shitty place. You live in Gotham, so, I know for sure that you are aware of that. But the world is an even shittier place for people with disabilities. And that includes you now. But first of all, that doesn’t mean that you need to be a shitty person, and second of all, that doesn’t mean that it’s your job to appease this shitty place. In an ideal world, everything would be made, so that you can easily reach places just as you did when you were able-bodied. But that is not the case. That’s where I come in. I am gonna teach you how to crawl, how to use crutches, so that you don’t fuck yourself over with them, and how to take care of that limb of yours. But getting a prosthetic is up to you. Because it might make some things easier and others shittier. It might make you look more ‘normal’ or able-bodied, but at the end of the day, you have to be okay with yourself. Without a prosthetic, without crutches. Without something that emulates being ‘normal’. Got it?”

No, he didn’t.

“So, I shouldn’t get a prosthetic? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No. What I am saying is, that at the end of the day a prosthetic is just a fancy crutch. It will help you get around, but it doesn’t make you able-bodied again all of a sudden. It will be work and it might be painful. And the decision not to get a prosthetic in any way doesn’t make you less or cowardly or lazy.”

“I don’t get it. Sorry, but you come in here and talk some shit about how I shouldn’t try to get back on my feet and I am just supposed to be okay with that?”

“Don’t you listen, kid? Go and get that prosthetic. Do it. But be aware that it's not going to make you happy until you start to accept your new reality. You gotta put some work into loving this body of yours as it is now if you wanna start moving again. Life is a bitch. Make it your bitch. I am just here to make sure you learn how to fall properly along the way.”

She reminded him painfully of his parents in that moment. Of his mom’s laughter when he fell from the trapeze into the net. Of his father’s stern tone when he told him the importance of patience. It wasn’t his fault when a few tears escaped his eyes and made their way down his cheeks.

“Are you even allowed to talk to me like this?”

He didn’t sound angry or sad, he sounded bemused. His emotions had stopped making sense the moment he had woken up and seen Alfred at his bedside. A part of him wanted to believe her, but the larger part just wanted to start physical therapy and get going towards that fucking prosthetic. And somehow, he knew that Dr. Romanova hadn’t counted on anything less.

“Boy, it is physical therapy time. I am the Queen here and talk how I want. But, no, I just found that a bit of brutal honesty usually helps setting the course with the patients. And? Are you gonna tell Daddy what a horrible witch I am?”

“Pff, nah. You remind me of… an aunt. And my mom. It was just… unexpected. Sorry…”

He wanted to hide his face in his hands, wanted to vanish until she couldn’t possibly see the tears in his eyes and the horrid feeling in his stomach. He wanted his mom. He wanted out of this reality in which he wouldn’t fly again. He wanted his normal brain back, one which knew how tact and conversation worked.

He wanted his fucking leg back.

The bed dipped when she sat down next to him and her hand was surprisingly soft when she touched his arm. There was real remorse in her voice when she spoke next:

“Hey, sorry, kid. I didn’t want to make you sad. I mean, you are probably plenty of sad without me already, there was really no need for me to make it worse. So, sorry. I can get a different therapist for you. Someone with less sharp edges and cracks.”

“No… it’s okay. I’m… I mean, I probably needed to hear this… so… I’ll start tomorrow?”

“If you want to, yeah. But no promises regarding my asshole personality.”

“Well, I can’t exactly promise not to be a bastard either, so…”

“Two assholes against the rest of the world, deal?”

“Deal”

With that Dr. Romanova left. She was a weird person, harsh and cold and warm and caring. Dick liked her. He wouldn’t get the kiddy gloves with her, but he didn’t have to fear her being too harsh either. Maybe they were just two assholes who needed to find each other. He didn’t need to believe her to feel a bit of hope. Maybe she could make all of this bearable.Or maybe she would just give him the tools to keep trying.

The next months were spent in physical therapy. They told him that it was vital for the prosthetic to work for his other limbs to be well trained and in top shape. Let’s just assume Dick surprised Dr. Romanova. At least in that point. There were very few things that could surprise her in total. His horrible humor and the mood swings certainly didn’t. But that didn’t mean physical therapy wasn’t demanding. It was hard to learn to move again when a quarter of his limbs wasn’t there to actually follow his brains command. His center of gravity was royally screwed up. He had never felt further from flying than when he tried to stand up but overbalanced and landed on his butt instead. Where was all the famous Grayson grace now? But he did it anyway. He trained, he learned how to walk with crutches and how to crawl correctly (and how to stand on his hands, but he already knew that one).

Bruce had finally started to show his face too. He sat in the back of the training room, only to vanish before Dick got a chance to talk to him. It was infuriating. The only thing that made it bearable were the mocking comments from Dr. Romanova as soon as Bruce left and the angry tilt of Alfred’s lips whenever Bruce was mentioned. Dick knew how horrible it was to be on the butler’s bad side and currently Bruce had taken up residence there.

The only real talk they had since Dick’s accident had been a short “You can’t be Robin anymore”. And Dick had already known that. Which didn’t make it hurt any less. Bruce was blaming himself and letting it out on Dick, but Dick had too much on his plate to also take care of Bruce’s ego. Fuck, he had to learn to walk again. He wasn’t getting his leg back. And Bruce was certainly no help at all.

Was it that much to ask for Bruce not to be an ass for once?

(Apparently. But what else was new?)

But Dick used his frustration to channel it into his recovery. Dr. Romanova had to step in multiple times to remind him to look after himself, to make sure his body was ready. To make sure he wouldn’t make it worse in his anger to prove himself. And because she was such a charming person, she did it in the gentlest of ways:

“If you do that, your leg might fall off. And then the wild tigers are going to eat it. Gruesome to watch. Truly disgusting. I love it.”

“You know what, I saw you fall four times in the last half an hour, and not once did you use the method I taught you. I thought you had lost your leg, not your hearing.”

“Graceful as a baby giraffe after being birthed in 6 ft height”

“Where you dropped on your head as a baby? Asking for a friend. That friend is me.”

But finally, she green lighted him for a prosthetic. 

That was the first time Dick called Barbara in two months. He was ready to reach out again. Maybe. He wasn’t so sure yet, but Barbara was different. Barbara would understand. And she did. It felt good to talk to her again. It felt good to talk again. No matter how much he liked to lie to himself, he was lonely. He longed for contact and Barbara would always be his first choice.

The first fitting for a prosthetic went horribly. It hurt when he tried to put it on, and he fell when he tried to walk with it. It squeezed tender flesh and reminded him of the rope that had taken his leg in the first place. He was almost happy that he told Alfred to wait in the car. 

(Living at the Manor had changed since he was discharged. Bruce only rarely appeared during dinner time and getting around had taken on a much more challenging tone. He used the elevator now when he wanted to get around fast and Bruce had locked him out of the Cave. Some bullshit excuse of “Focus on your recovery” was all the explanation he got. Alfred’s passive aggressive comments and over-cooked steak punishment did nothing to derail Bruce and only little to make Dick smile.)

His prosthesist told him not to worry, that his limb might just take a bit more time, but all Dick felt was frustration. He had been doing great. He had been getting his life back on track, so of course, his stupid fucking leg had to fuck it all up again. He wanted to punch a hole through a wall or better yet kick one. There was so much anger boiling inside of him. Why couldn’t this just be over? Why couldn’t he just get a prosthetic and be done with this? Why was it always himself that had to suffer?

Even though he didn’t yell, didn’t let his anger get the best of him, the doctor told him that he should consider seeing a therapist. Something about life changing traumas. Bullshit. They wouldn’t know a life changing trauma if it punched them in the face. Or if it took a fall in front of them, only a hand far out of grasp.

(And the public didn’t even know the whole story. They thought he was in a car accident)

He went out of that meeting angry and it didn’t change when he went home to vent only to almost fall again when he tried to get out of the car. His frustration was quick to turn into tears. Couldn’t he do anything correctly?

His father wasn’t talking to him, he had alienated his friends (No offense, Kory) and the only two people he still spoke to were the family butler and his best friend/crush. He was utterly alone. Which sounded like an oxymoron “Dick Grayson the most social person you know, dying of loneliness”. But, yeah, he was doing great.

Maybe it was time to stop trying and just wallow in self-pity. 

A week later saw him talking to Black Canary for the first time about everything. 

(“Office of Dinah Lance. How can I help you?”

“Hey, Dinah. It’s me, Dick. I…”

“Dick? Yes. Take your time.”

“Can I make an appointment with you? As a civilian. I think I am not doing so peachy right now”

“Of course. Is next Friday 12pm okay? In my city office?”

“That sounds great… thank you. And if you could keep quiet about this? Especially in front of Bruce?”

“Always, sweetie, always. Don’t worry”

“Thanks”)

A month later saw him return from a meeting with his prosthesist with a smile.

(“I think that might be a fit. Any discomfort?”

“No. I almost don’t feel it”

“Keep it on for an hour and then we take a look for any pressure points that might have appeared. But it looks good.”

“It feels good, too”)

Two months later saw him working on walking again without crutches with Dr. Romanova.

(“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,…”

“My name is Tanja not God. This has happened before though. Sadly, always with patients and never with my partners”

“Well, that was a picture I didn’t need. Wow, thanks.”

“It’s a pleasure. But for real, you are doing great!”

“Am I though? Ugh! Shit!”

“Hey, you got four steps further than last week. And you took the rail only once. You are fucking doing this!”)

Three months later saw him move out of the Manor. 

He couldn’t do it anymore. The silence between him and Bruce had started to suffocate him. Bruce came only down for dinner because Alfred forced him to. When Dick tried to start a conversation, he was shot down by a tired “Not now Dick”. He hadn’t seen Bruce for three weeks after that. Alfred tried his best, he really did, but Dick needed his dad not his grandfather/butler. And if he couldn’t have that, then he wanted nothing to do with the Wayne family at all.

When he asked Dinah about it, she told him that needing space in a situation like his was natural, and that he was allowed to take that space for himself. That it was okay for his first priority to be himself for a while. So, he did. He took space for himself.

At first, he had wanted to move to Blüdhaven, to put a whole lot of space between himself and Bruce but it was impossible to forget that he still needed physical therapy once a week, had an appointment with his prosthesist every two weeks, and met with Dinah over coffee whenever he needed it. Which was quite often as of now. That, and nobody wanted him too far away in case he fell or needed help. He was a cripple now after all. _He almost forgot_.

(He didn’t. There was a constant stream of “Cripple. Cripple. Cripple. Cripple” in the back of his mind. It got louder when he walked past a mirror or when he needed to sit down to shower. Sleeping was horrible because he couldn’t wear the prosthetic to bed. He tried once and his prosthesist almost killed him.)

So, a Gotham City apartment it was. 

Settling into a life on his own was different. He had handles installed in the bathroom and his bedroom, he needed to cook for himself, it was his own responsibility to do his course work. He could always have parties and friends over. He was free. It felt great.

(Now he only needed friends)

Half a year after the accident Dick called Wally again for the first time in forever.

Maybe he was ready to move forward. At least a tiny little bit.

His 18th birthday came, and Dick had lived alone for almost three months. He used his prosthetic on the regular now and when he tried hard enough, he could almost ignore the phantom pain that seared nerves he didn’t even have anymore. Or the pressure that laid on the ones he still had.

There were other struggles too: Dick figured out how to cook and it only went up in flames once. There had been the time when Dick forgot to do his laundry and had to go shopping in a pink onesie Roy had gifted him on his last birthday. But he was doing it. He was learning how to adult and as of now Alfred had only had to intervene twice.

He was slowly coming back into society as well. He started talking to some of his friends on the regular again and when his birthday approached Dick knew that he was ready to see more than two people at a time. Still, his party was small but everything Dick needed. The Titans came and Barbara and Clark. Alfred had cooked them a true feast and for the first time since way too many months Dick was completely happy.

With every horrid joke Roy told, with every never-ending story Garth got caught up in, with every loving look Donna send his way, something in Dick loosened. He had locked these people out and no matter how often Dinah told him that that was normal, some part of him would always regret it.

(But that was the Bat way, wasn’t it? Taking responsibility for things that weren’t one’s fault and letting everything go to shit because of that. Right, Bruce? Huh?)

With every touch from Barbara, with every shoulder bump from Kory, Dick could almost ignore the Bruce shaped hole at his table. His guardian had taken in a new kid. Jason. Adopted him too. Just as his guardianship over Dick ended. 

But, no, his birthday was his and his alone. He wouldn’t destroy it by thinking about Bruce. He was surrounded by too much love for that.

It was late that evening, closer to the next morning than any of them liked to admit, when Clark joined him on the balcony of his flat.

“How you doing, lad?”

“Has Bruce send you to talk to me?”

That got a chuckle out of Clark. Dick liked the big goof. Something made him feel safe with him that had nothing to do with Superman and everything with Clark Kent.

“No, I came here on my own. It’s your birthday! Only a Super kind of event would stop me from attending”

“Good to know. So, B has no excuse for not showing up”

Maybe Dick was a tiny bit bitter. Heck, he had any right to be.

“You sent him an invite?”

“No. But when has he ever needed one before?”

Clark tugged Dick closer to him, embracing him in a one-sided hug.

“That’s true. But don’t spent too many thoughts on your old man. It’s your night. You’re the Nightwing of your own story!”

“Nightwing?”

“Have I never told you about Nightwing and Flamebird? Well, I can’t stand by that!”

And then Clark told Dick a story of Krypton. A story so sad and yet hopeful, Dick felt tears well up. With a look at Clark’s serene face, Dick realized that this story was his birthday present. Clark had shared something with him so deeply personal because he knew that Dick would treasure it. 

Maybe the real heroes were the friends you made along the way.

Three months later saw him in a slump. He used his prosthetic too often, too carelessly and now the skin on his stump needed time to heal which meant crutches and stares when he left the flat. Not that he didn’t usually got those, but on good days he could pretend that they were because of his charming personality and his dashing good looks. But not right now. The fact that it was February and the streets were wet and cold and full of sleet didn’t help either. You could only land on your ass so many times before your ego took a hit. Not that his ego could shoulder all that many hits right now.

Which was why he stopped going out. 

The call from Barbara telling him that Jason was Robin now hadn’t helped either. He hadn’t talked to anyone in days. He hadn’t eaten in some time. He couldn’t even remember when he last talked with Dinah. He knew he had a few missed calls from her. From Tanja, too. Barbara had already given up.

He missed flying. 

He missed it so much that he considered taking one last dash across the rooftops. He imagined it. The feeling of fresh air on his skin, the adrenaline, the freedom. For someone who lost so much through falling, he craved it. He craved it like a dying alcoholic craved a bottle of rum. It scared him. And even more scared him his inability to do something against it. Or about it.

( _So, what if he took that one last dash?)_

The person to finally shake him out of his stupor was the last person he expected to: Jason.

The boy, and it truly was still a boy, stood in front of his apartment in the pouring rain and stared at Dick when he finally managed to get the door. Dick had tried to ignore it but after 15 minutes of nonstop ringing even the most steeled mind needed a break. 

(And his mind wasn’t steeled. It was soft paper maché ready to erode.)

So, to say that he wasn’t in the best mood when he found his replacement in front of his door would be an understatement:

“What? Didn’t Bruce tell you that the lost Robin was a cripple?”

Jason recoiled and Dick instantly felt bad. The boy had just stood there, maybe staring a bit, but nowhere as bad as the passerbys on the street did. Why was he like that? The kid was not at fault for neither his shitty mood nor his strained relationship with Bruce. 

Dick moved away from the door, into the apartment, motioning for Jason to follow him:

“Sorry. Want something to drink?”

That got the boy talking:

“Yeah. Some tea, if you have it.”

The accent was clear Crime Alley. Bruce had really outdone himself with that one. But Dick tried not to be more of a dick than he already was, so he didn’t say it out loud. He moved into the kitchen instead, leaning his crutches against the counter before filling the kettle with water. That seemed to intrigue Jason:

“You have one of these?”

Dick was just thankful that Jason hadn’t tried to help him. If that had been the case Dick would’ve had to use all of his self-restraint to refrain from punching the kid. And he wasn’t sure if that would have been enough. He was trying, okay? Trying all the time until he was tired enough to sleep. Only to get up again and try again and sleep again. Only to fail again.

“Do you think Alfred would let me move out without a decent kettle to keep myself alive? Never.”

Finally, the water was done, and Dick could set two cups of tea down on the couch table. Standing around was awfully awkward, especially with the kid your guardian adopted watching your every move.

“But what brings you here, kid? Didn’t believe I was real?”

Jason looked offended but Dick was way too tired already (or again?) to think about what exactly had angered him. 

“No. There is no way to escape your fucking face in the Manor. I had to see for myself what all the fuzz is about. You would think you died with how Bruce talks about you, but you just lost a leg, for fucks sake!”

Well, that was a surprising new hot take. One that Dick was not in the mood to discuss.

“Congratulations, you saw my face. If that’s all you had to say, you can get out of my fucking house!”

And now he was getting angry. Wonderful. Maybe if he closed his eyes everything would be alright again. But Jason wasn’t ready to just stop:

“I fought with Bruce. That’s why I’m here. And I didn’t mean anything by it, just… Bruce never talks about you but there are pictures of you everywhere. Alfred tells stories sometimes, but you sound like a fucking angel in all of them.”

Huh. That was new. Whenever Alfred talked with him about his childhood, the old man tended to remind Dick of every broken vase or chandelier. What kind of demon child was Jason if Dick seemed like an angel in comparison?

“How am I supposed to be Robin if I’m unable to reach that impossible standard? I needed to know that you are human. And you are. Painfully so.”

“Well, thank you for the reminder. I almost forgot for a hot second there”

“It helps that you are.”

They fell into silence after that. There was so much going on here. This kid was something and Dick wasn’t sure if he liked that something. What was Dick supposed to do? He had a thirteen-year-old on his couch who just yelled at him and then told him insights into Bruce’s life that even Alfred had forgotten to mention. A boy that sounded lost in the same way Dick had been lost when he started out as Robin. It hurt to think of this child as Robin.

What was the right thing to do in this situation? What would be the least asshole-y thing Dick could do?

“Do you wanna stay the night?”

Jason grinned at him:

“Yeah”

And Jason stayed the night. They watched Pixar movies together without talking and ate take-out while making fun of Bruce. And the next morning Dick called Dinah again. Her voice was full of relief when she heard him over the phone. Something told Dick that she had known just how close he was, how fast the darkness had tried to claim him. But he did it. He called her. He made the first step all over again. It was time to prove to Bruce that he wasn’t dead yet.


	2. Year Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting back on his feet (foot?) no longer seemed unattainable, just like the next challenge on a list of challenges. And Dick is ready. Especially since he has people who have his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dudes!  
> I AM BACK! My Laptop broke and I only got him back like four days ago, but I was finally able to edit this chapter and post it for you guys!  
> Thanks to all of you for your lovely comments and encouragement! I love every single one of you!  
> Please mind the tags guys because there will be discussion of suicidal intentions in this chapter!

In the following months Dick started to work out again. He took up boxing, weightlifting, and running. It was different than before and yet almost completely the same. Soon, however, he realized that his prosthesist wouldn’t be able to aid him anymore. The guy was nice, that’s for sure, but he couldn’t deal with the level of activity that Dick craved. Dr. Romanova laughed when he told her about it (“Only you would send the leading man in sports prostheses in Gotham running. Only you”) and sent him a number. The number of one Dr. Quinn.

The woman was someone special in her field, instead of focusing on normal sports prostheses she had decided to design highly specialized ones. She was the one that had come to Dr. Romanova’s mind when Dick whined about trapezes and the high bars. And she was the one who had an answer.

They met the first time in a café, just the three of them (who else was supposed to come?). It felt weird to sit between these two accomplished women, both older and more experienced than him. Once again Dick was baffled by just how much Dr. Romanova reminded him of Diana, even with her brown pixie cut and the sailor’s grin. Dr. Quinn was the complete opposite: She was petite where Dr. Romanova was tall, she was blond and had an easy smile, where Tanja had neither of these. His instincts told Dick that she would have no trouble besting him if he ever wronged her. For his own good he hoped that this theory would never have to be tested.

Together they sat and talked and designed a plan. A plan for Dick to take back the air.

And with a collaboration between Dr. Quinn and Dr. Romanova he did just that. He learned how to safely take on his gymnastics equipment without the prosthetic and, when Dr. Quinn designed experimental gymnast prostheses, he learned how to do it with them too. 

He was finally flying again.

Was it hard and different and yet totally worth it? Yes. 

Flying without a second leg ended on the floor more often than not, but it didn’t clip his wings as long as he was in the air. Dick was sure that he would even be able to do the famous Flying Grayson quadruple flip again, if he trained hard enough. 

Barbara came with him sometimes, watching from the sidelines as he performed his tricks. She said, she was unable to spot a difference. Dick knew she was lying but he could value her trying. Trying was all that counted after all. Trying was all they had left.

It felt like breathing being up on the high bar - and later when they moved on to a low hanging trapeze. It felt like being Dick Grayson again. The air moving around him, the spinning floor beneath him, the drop in his stomach when he defied gravity. He had missed this. All of it. Something had changed in his heart the moment his hands had touched the trapeze handle for the first time in over a year and Dick really hoped that that change was for the better. He could need it.

Training with his prosthetic on was more demanding. Simply because they had to take time outs more often to see if it fit, if his skin or muscle were irritated and to make sure that he didn’t accidentally overexerted himself. It irritated him, this constant need to triple-check while he was doing something he loved. Maybe that was the real reason Dr. Romanova was here. She reminded him constantly that he was being an idiot. Ah, friendship.

But there was something exhilarating in doing a flip - nothing too fancy - and landing on two legs. There was something exhilarating in standing for once instead of falling.

Slowly but surely, he got back in form. In Robin form. A bit different now, but superhero fit nonetheless. But that made it even more apparent that no human prosthetic would allow Dick to fly across the rooftops like Robin once had. 

Dick Grayson would be able to fly again like this. In the safety of a gymnasium far away from things like uneven ground, badly lit stairs, or useless gaps (Dick finally understood now why the metro always warned you to Mind the Gap).

After all this time Robin was still stuck on the ground. 

But maybe it wasn’t quite over yet. Maybe all of that had helped somewhat. Because all these months spent in rehab doing exercises and learning to fly again, were also months full of conversations. He might still be stuck on the floor but at least he was talking to people again.

Dinah had been the driving force behind that, of course. Oliver definitely didn’t deserve her, because that woman was an absolute unit. They met over coffee twice a week, having forgone her city office early in their talks. He told her everything: his important worries and the inane thoughts that kept him awake at night. He told her about his crushes, his fears, and his struggles with Bruce. He told her about his favorite candy and why he _wanted_ to try with Jason.

He told her about his wish to… _fall_.

It was probably the hardest conversation he ever had. He was Dick Grayson, dammit, the Golden Boy of the Justice League. Everyone loved him. And here he was, willing to hurt himself.

They had sat in a café in the middle of the shopping district, private because of the sheer amount of civilians around them, when he let these thoughts become reality. In the anonymity of hundreds, he let the words slip that had haunted him for months:

“Ever since… ever since the accident… sometimes I wish for it all to be over. Sometimes I miss flying and falling so much, that I… that I wish I could just fall one last time… that I could just make it stop…”

The tears that had run down his face came to no surprise and neither did the soothing hand that had grasped his. When he had looked up, Dinah’s eyes had been wet too, shimmering with empathy and understanding.

“It’s okay, Dick. The important thing right now is that you _didn’t_. You _didn’t_ jump. You _didn’t_ fall. You are here with me; in this café; drinking horrible hot chocolate; living. You survived these urges and now you can sit in front of me and tell me about them. That already means incredibly much, Dick. Believe me.”

And Dick had wanted to.

Their talk had gone on for hours after that. Dinah had asked him about his routines, if he had people he could count on if he got that bad again, if he wanted to try medication against his PTSD related depression, if he wanted to try something else.

She was the reason why he had called Donna and told her that he needed a buddy, someone to call and talk to if it got _bad_. And Donna had said yes, not even waiting for him to explain what he had meant with bad. She had just accepted it. Not even Dick at his worst could deny the warmth that spread through him at the loyalty of his friends.

Him reaching out to Donna started a chain reaction over the coming months. He had talked to most of his friends, of course, hadn’t stopped responding like he did after the accident, but there had been a distance, one that had seemed impossible to conquer at times. Not now. Not anymore.

He reached out to Donna and a week later Wally had called asking about his opinion as a tie-breaker on a debate about pineapple on pizza he had with his girlfriend.

Barbara had slept over at his apartment and helped him sew up a few of his pant legs, after he kept tripping over them when he moved around without his prosthetic. It had been a long night, one filled with laughter. It had been the night Dick made his first horrible joke in a horribly long time. Barbara had laughed, but Dick had seen the tears of relief in her eyes.

Roy had shown up, hugged him, and told him he was a dumbass, and decided to sleep on his couch for a week. That had been the point at which Dick had realized something else. Not only were his friends some of the most important people in his life, he had the same role in theirs.

It had begun with Roy sitting in front of Dick’s TV, playing some sort of game or another. Dick had pretended to be asleep, his head slightly slumped against Roy’s shoulder, when he had heard his friend grumble to himself:

“Dumb idiot. Doesn’t call for half a year and then he starts snoring in the first forty minutes. Fuckface doesn’t even know how worried we were. Dammit! Die, you bastards! Argh!”

The last bit had – pretty obviously – not been directed towards Dick but the game Roy had been playing. The exclamation and the jump Roy had paired it with, though, made it impossible for Dick to pretend to be asleep anymore. Being jostled like this would have woken the dead. Blearily he had gazed up at Roy, his brain lagging behind:

“You know I love you, Eagle-Eyes, right?”

Roy had scoffed at his declaration, but Dick had seen the slight blush that had crept up the archer’s cheeks. There had been nothing vulnerable, though, when Roy had turned around, taking Dick in, staring until it was slightly uncomfortable.

“What?”

“What brought this on? You never been one to say something like this so easily - too much Batman during your formative years.”

“Just… I figured that its been a while since I told you guys. Sorry…”

“Are you going to do something dumb?”

There had been honest to god fear in Roy’s eyes. It had broken Dick’s heart. He didn’t want to be responsible for putting such a look on his best friend’s face. He didn’t want for any of his loved ones to look at him like this.

“No. I promise.”

“Good, because I don’t know if you know this, but we were fucking scared for you. Not necessarily during the accident, we knew you’d survive, but after. After when you vanished. When Barbara was the only one who could tell us how you were. And then the last few months… how close were we to losing you again? Permanently this time?”

Dick hadn’t wanted to answer. He had done so anyway:

“Too close…”

Dick had seen the way Roy had swallowed and a pit had wanted to open itself up inside of him. He had made his friends suffer, he had made them worry. He… didn’t want any of this. But before he had been able to utter another word, another apology, Roy had wrapped his arms tight around him. Dick had been able to feel the heat of another body, friendly touch that he so desperately craved.

“I am so sorry, Dick Grayson. I love you, too. We all love you. Donna, Kory, they would die for you. I am still surprised that Wally didn’t permanently move here, and Garth named four separate fish after you just last month. We love you, we love you, we love you. Please don’t forget that. Please let us be here for you.”

Roy had cried, but so had Dick. It had felt almost… cathartic. Sitting there deep at night in the darkness only illuminated by the soft glow of a violent video game. Two friends – two brothers – sharing their pain. Maybe it wasn’t okay. But maybe _that was okay_.

When Jason knocked on his door a few weeks later, Dick didn’t even have to think about letting him in. And when Barbara kissed him on the cheeks after one of their study dates, Dick did only blush and ask her out for a real date in a real restaurant. Not once did he stop and stare at himself in the mirror, thinking less of himself. Not once did he feel like only half the man he was, when he took her hand, and walked into the restaurant of her choosing. All he felt were the butterflies in his stomach whenever she smiled at him.

It had been 1 ½ years since the accident when Dick contacted Cyborg and Martian Manhunter regarding an idea he had for a future prosthesis. 

They answered his call - and who in the Superhero community wouldn’t? - and together the three of them sat down to start a project. A project that would give Dick his wings back. 

(He needed them. He needed them so desperately like others needed air to breath)

Whenever they reached a dead end, Dick would inquire with Dr. Quinn what her personal opinion on this completely hypothetical prosthesis would be. It only worked because nobody suspected Dick Grayson to be working with the Justice League. And because Dr. Quinn liked him. The woman smiled at him with her lovely lips, a knowing twist to them, and Dick just knew that she gave him answers to the best of her abilities. And her abilities were far beyond anything Dick could have hoped for.

They made progress. 

The first try was a complete disaster, however. It was a crash and burn scenario that ended with Dick having second degree burns and Cyborg and J’onn getting yelled at by Batman. Dick sat behind them, completely ignored by his mentor, _his dad_. He would give anything to get some fucking recognition. A smile, a nod, a screaming match. Anything at all. But Batman greeted him only in silence.

They continued anyways. 

(He wouldn’t let it hurt him. He _couldn’t_ let it hurt him. He was better. _Had_ to be better.)

And after the second try (just wouldn’t move), the third try (moved too much), the forth try (seemed to work until it suddenly started to sizzle), and finally the fifth try (it just… fell apart), it finally worked. 

They created a prosthetic that was connected to Dick’s brain, reacting almost instantly to his synapses telling it to move. It looked humanoid (other than most of his every day prostheses) and was made from black and blue [_graphene_](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FGraphene&t=ZTExYTljM2ExZTQ4MzMzOTc2ZDY4NDdkNzEyZjVmOGVhMzhkYTIyMCw2VmV2dzEybw%3D%3D&b=t%3AdEtuKd7bUHN5vt6HuhGIag&p=https%3A%2F%2Fsassydefendorflower.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F188222843539%2Fwhumptober-day-30-recovery&m=1), an extremely hard but light substance. 

It was something a hero could wear without proclaiming his lack of limb to the whole world. They had to design the second suit leg in a similar fashion, obviously, so nobody saw that one of his legs was more steel than flesh. So, what if his new superhero persona was a bit more MECHA than his old Robin one? He would fly again.

( _Finally_. ~~Finally~~. FINALLY. finally. **Finally** )

But like every good thing in his life it had drawbacks: It tired him out faster, he couldn’t wear it for long periods of time, and it made the phantom pain haunting him so much worse. Because suddenly his brain could send signals to his left leg again. But there was still no organic leg to feel anything. Which didn’t mean that Dick didn’t experience every bit of pain his brain meant to feel. It meant ice packs and meditation and exercises and, when it got horribly bad, pain meds. It meant two steps forward and one step back.

On one memorable instance the NOPE (Neurological Operating Prostheses Engine) had malfunctioned and broken down with one bolt just yeeting itself out of the joint. And Dick had yelled as if in pain because his brain saw something leaving his knee and decided that that bolt had been his. The pain had been real for him, but not for his body.

But all of this was secondary to the one thing Dick had worked so hard towards: He was going out to fly again. With a bit of training beforehand, of course. Or a lot of it.

Not that it mattered. Just the possibility of jumping across a rooftop again for the first time in forever made getting out of bed so much easier in the morning. Dick had always functioned best when there was something he could work towards. Be it the trapeze, or being Robin, or walking, Dick needed a goal. How lucky then, that he currently had one.

Now he only had to choose a name. Robin didn’t feel right anymore (and not only because Jason was Robin and Dick had started to actually like the kid) but because Robin was Batman’s partner. And if Dick was one thing no longer it was that. 

He remembered his birthday again. And sitting outside with Clark. Dick grinned when he dialed Clark’s number. He had a question for Superman.

It was with renewed spirit that Dick took on his daily life after that. He even worked on his college coursework – and that not just to appease Alfred. He, well, he actually enjoyed it. He even went so far as to go to the park with Barbara just for a study date. It felt great to sit in the sun, to enjoy the warmth, and to feel alive. He had missed this. For months it had been as if the sun was no longer able to reach his heart but suddenly it felt possible again. It didn’t quite manage to mask the loneliness that had settled in his bones, but it came damn fucking close. Especially with Barbara ready to _accidentally_ brush against him every few minutes. Dick went home grinning that day.

And he was still doing that when Jason went knocking at his door the next day. The boy had an impish grin on his face and a new Playstation game in his hand. Of course, Dick let him inside.

“So, what graces me with your presence today?”

“Am I not just allowed to visit the elusive Dick Grayson?”

Dick really liked the kid. It felt weird admitting that after months spend hating him on principle but, god, Dick liked that little freak and his horrible cocky nature.

“That is not an answer. And normally you only show up here when you have beef with B and you think Alfred is not going to be on your side.”

“Eh… wanna play Chunk Monkey Massacre and order takeout?”

Jason grinned up at him. The 14-year-old boy was a head smaller than Dick and when he batted his eyelashes like that – as if he had never done anything wrong in his life ever – Dick was almost swayed to believe that Jason was cute. Or innocent. Of course, he knew better.

“And who is gonna pay for that takeout?”

“Bruce, naturally”

The boy now held a fifty dollar note in his hands, previously hidden by the game. Dick was starting to grin too. Food and games on Bruce’s expenses sounded like something he could get behind. And he had meant to spend more time with the kid. Why not like this? They both profited from it after all.

“Sounds like a plan”

If some part of Dick was touched by the delighted yell Jason produced while launching himself on his couch, Dick would deny it. Instead he followed the kid, grabbing some takeout menus and his phone from the table, before joining him. The time Dick had needed to do that – not much – had been used by Jason: The kid had set up Dick’s gaming system and started the TV. He didn’t even look up when Dick sat down next to him, too focused already on Chunk Monkey Massacre.

“So, what do you wanna eat? Thai? Burgers? Italian? Bugs?”

“Don’t be gross. We both know that you are only allowed to eat pizza while gaming, duh”

“Preach. Anchovies and broccoli like always, right?”

“You are a gross man, Dick Grayson, but I respect your choice. Just add extra spicy sauce.”

Dick laughed and it felt good. It felt good to sit next to this stinky teenager, who might be his brother, and talk about disgusting pizza orders. It felt good to wrestle over the controller and to almost break the couch table. It felt good to laugh out loud when Jason snorted Coke Zero while telling a school story and sprayed the sweet drink over half the living space. It felt good to just be a teenager for once.

To say he was surprised when Batman, no, Bruce Wayne stood at his door two months later, during lunch of the day Dick was ready for a test run with NOPE - for a test run as Nightwing - would be an understatement.

He hadn’t talked to Bruce directly since he moved out of the Manor. That had been over a year ago. Alfred called him regularly, of course, and Jason came over solely to curse out Batman, but they hadn’t come face to face in quite some time. It felt as if he was seeing Bruce for the first time again. It wasn’t pleasant.

The man that he had once almost called father looked haggard, but then he always did when Batman wore the suits of Bruce Wayne. There was something hard in his face that made it perfectly clear that this conversation would lack the gentle and slow smiles of his childhood. Or the comfort of Bruce’s giant hands pressing him close. Hugging him.

“What are you doing here?”

Dick was dressed leisurely in a hoodie and some pants Barbara had helped him modify for no-prostheses days (there had been relatively many of these lately). He could feel Bruce’s eyes stopping at the sewn-up pants leg. 

For a moment the emotional whiplash threatened to unbalance Dick. He had forgotten that Bruce had never seen Dick just _be_ without some sort of prosthetic on. He had seen Dick, back before the accident, and he had seen him in the hospital, completely lost and yet desperate to work towards ‘normalcy’. 

But Dick as he was now? At ease with his body? Comfortable to look into the mirror and not flinch back when only three limbs greeted him? No, Bruce was the only person Dick called family that had never been part of the Dick After. 

And oh, how proud Dick was of this Dick After. He could still recall that first morning where he had woken up without feeling an immense sensation of loss like it was yesterday. He remembered getting up and looking in the mirror without a moment of realization regarding his leg. He remembered because it had not been long since then. This was new for him and he loved it. He loved being able to like himself again.

This feeling of being complete and whole had only recently started to become a part of his life. But now Bruce stood in front of him and looked at him as if he had never seen Dick before. As if it was a stranger standing in front of him and not his son.

It hurt. It hurt so much more than Dick could have ever imagined. 

“I… I wanted to see you”

“Now?”

Bruce just stared at him. His eyes were locked on Dick’s face now, burning into his skull. It might be Bruce who appeared at his doorstep, but it was Batman who handled this conversation. And nobody said no to Batman.

“Yes. Now.”

Dick let him inside his apartment. 

This small room that he called his home. This place Alfred always told him was too small, too un-Wayne-like. But it had been what Dick had wanted. Something that reminded him of his cramped family-trailer and not the endless halls of Wayne Manor. It was still expensive, of course. All chrome handles and high ceilings, perfectly fitted for all of his needs. But it was his. His place, his space, his home.

It was awkward. Of course, it was. Bruce made Dick conscious of his body. Of his movements in his home. Of the crutches he used to comfortably reach places. He made him feel his disability in a way few had been able to do in the last few weeks.

Dick hated it.

He hated how he almost stumbled when he reached the kitchen and Bruce had to hold himself back from catching him. He hated how Bruce stared and looked at everything but him. He hated the silence that felt too heavy to fill when it was once Dick’s favorite pastime to do just that.

But with the coffee machine running its course, and two cups ready (Dick still remembered how Bruce liked his) he knew that he had to face the silence. That he was the one who had to break it. Because that was his fucking job. Had been since his first days as Robin:

“Now what do you really want, Bruce? You haven’t talked to me in over a year”

“I… I heard that your little pet project with J’onn and Victor is finished, and I wanted to tell you that I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Well, aren’t we all lucky then that you are no longer my guardian? Aren’t we all lucky then that you can no longer tell me what to do? Not since Robin. Not since the accident. Not since I stopped asking for your opinion.”

Dick knew he sounded bitter. Heck, he was bitter. The satisfaction that cursed through his body when he saw the shocked look on Bruce’s face made him feel warm. Warm and a tiny bit dirty. Bruce had still been his second father. Dick hated the amount of power he had over him.

But Bruce surprised him just then. He raised his hands in a peaceful gesture and nodded:

“I know. I just thought you should know that I won’t support this endeavor in any form. I was okay with it, when it was a project to keep you busy, but…”

A project to keep him busy. Something to make sure poor little Dick Grayson didn’t kill himself. Hah. The part of him that wanted to connect with Bruce swallowed. No. He would no longer feel guilty for being an asshole. Bruce deserved it. Hell, he deserved so much more.

“Then you can leave.”

“No. Hear me out. I know I haven’t been the best guardian this past year and half. I know I messed up. Let me try to fix it. Please, Dick.”

“I want you to leave right now, Bruce. I want you to leave and only come back when you are capable of looking me in the eyes. I want you to fuck off until you learn to respect me again. I want you to leave me the fuck alone.”

He was angry but his voice sounded weak. Bruce wanted to extend a hand but then he seemed to remember the current conversation and did the only good thing he had done in a long, long time: He left.

And for the first time since seeing Bruce at his door, Dick could breathe again. With each deep breath came a surge of tears. Tears, he had held back when his guardian - his dad - had told him once again, that he didn’t believe in Dick. It was nothing new and yet it hurt each time. There had been a time where Bruce had been his rock, the one person Dick could always count on.

Now all that Bruce left him with were two cold cups of coffee and a feeling of dread.

He went out that night, anyway. Out of spite. Out of righteous fury. Out of a promise to himself: He would stop letting Bruce dictate his life. It was time.

His first few nights out were a complete disaster. Well, not completely, he got to make out with Batgirl on a rooftop on the night of his 19th birthday. But other than that?

His reactions were slightly off when they were in a fight, he accidentally almost killed a crook when he kicked him too hard with his NOPE, and no amount of training could prepare him for the fact that he could jump 3 feet further than before and miscalculated his landings frequently because of that.

But none of these things were life-shattering. They all just meant that he had to work a bit harder and Dick was ready to do just that. Hell, Dick had always been ready to do just that.

Because being out there again filled him with so much unfiltered joy. He had loved the night from the moment he got his first good whiff of the disgusting Gotham smog. He had loved the sound of rooftop gravel under his boots. The taste of Barbara on his lips when they stole kisses like middle schoolers out after curfew. The feeling of the grapple gun in his hands and gravity taking hold.

The swoosh of air as he took flight again. He was flying again. And that would always be worth it.

And if he had to train more and work later and strain himself more just to be able to run next to Batgirl and take the city with her, that was okay. **Nightwing** was flying and that was everything that counted.

So, what if Batman and Robin made themselves scare on the route him and Barbara usually choose? So, what if Jason told him that Bruce had broken his hand in anger when the first report of an injured Nightwing came through? So, what if Bruce hadn’t called himself to make sure that Dick was okay?

(Which he was. He had sprained his ankle which resulted in a few awkward days and endless teasing from Roy who had crashed on his couch. Dick had been duped the “Legless Wonder” for most of the time. It had ended in only one black eye. And that had not been his)

He was 19 now. An amputee for almost two years. He had a closet full of prostheses, an absolutely banger girlfriend, friends who would do anything for him, a little brother, a college he attended sometimes (Sorry, Alfred), and he was flying again. _He was flying again._

He was happy. Especially when it came to the larger picture. Dinah told him how proud she was, and Dick had to agree: He was proud of himself too. It was a great feeling to have. 

It was one that made it worth it when he overbalanced or tripped over small things. It made it worth to struggle sometimes only to find other things laughable easy. 

It made it worth for his first month out to be a bit of a disaster. But hey, they were superheroes. When did any of their lived not resemble a disaster?

On the three-month anniversary of his new Superhero career the Titans got together once again. They had all called on his birthday, of course, but Dick hadn’t been too mad to postpone the party until Nightwing got his feet back under himself. 

It felt great to celebrate together with his old team, Barbara, and Jason at the Titans Tower. Some part of Dick had been awfully smug to see the awed look on Jason’s face when Donna opened the door to their sanctuary. If you asked Dick, the little shit could take being knocked down from his high Robin horse once or twice. And Dick counted it as his big brother duty to do so.

Nevertheless, the party was great. Dick watched as Donna teased Jason until he asked her for a dance, and he saw Kory and Barbara laugh in a corner of the room. He knew that they were talking about him, but it only filled him with pride. The people he loved liked each other. What more could he hope for?

He was deep in thought when the couch dipped with the weight of two new bodies. Wally to his left and Roy to his right. He sent a curious glance in both of their directions when they didn’t immediately start talking.

“Everything alright?”

It felt weirdly good to be the one asking this question again, instead of being the one asked.

“Yeah, man, I just fucking missed this…”

Roy sounded wistful. And taking in the scene in front of them Dick couldn’t scorn him for that. He had missed this too. The easy companionship. The laughter. Their ridiculous ideas and the even more ridiculous bad guys.

“Me too”

Dick looked towards Wally and wondered how long it had been since he looked at his best friend like this. Wally had aged. He was no longer a lanky teenager; he was slowly becoming a lanky man. Roy, too, had started to fill out and grow a beard. Was the same thing happening to him? Was he growing up without noticing? When had his own life ran away from him like this?

(He knew, of course. It was crystal clear after all. But still… so fast? All of them?)

They were no longer boys and girls playing dress up. They were men and women trying to save the world. It hurt to realize that, but it also filled him with pride. They had survived so far. With losses, sure, but they had survived. _He_ had survived. And sometimes that felt like the battle he had fought the hardest to win.

“But here we are, aren’t we? The fucking Titans back together”

Dick raised his beer bottle, toasting both his friends, who readily met his bottle with theirs. The clink of glass meeting reverberated through all of them, Dick thought. It reminded all of them of camping trips and beach parties. Of rooftop birthdays and misguided teenage adventures. It was in a sense the sound of their youth, only second to the exhilarating sound of fists meeting flesh. Ah, the life of a teenage superhero.

“To the Titans – the greatest heroes of the world!”

Roy’s exclamation brought everyone’s attention towards their little group. They all cheered and raised their drinks. What a wonderful group of people to surround himself with. Dick couldn’t shake the feeling – didn’t want to, really – that he might be one of the luckiest people on earth.

Soon, everyone returned to their activities and Dick’s attention returned to the redheads on both of his sides:

“But really, you two doing okay?”

“Yeah, don’t fret it, Boy Wonder, we doin’ just fine”

“Everything peachy. Linda thinks about becoming a journalist. I think, I have to stop her. If she does that and I manage to finish my degree in forensics, we might just become clones of Barry and Iris, just in red-haired and Asian.”

Both Dick and Roy laughed at that. Wally looked deeply pleased at that. The three of them had been the core trio after all. Once upon a time they had been inseparable. Life happened as it tends to do. 

“Tell me about it. I met this feisty assassin on one of my missions and she just won’t stop flirting with me. If this continues, I might have to tell her that my arrows don’t kill – they only break hearts!”

The grin on Roy’s face made him look even more punch-able than the horrible pun did but Dick was only filled with glee. He had missed this. _Oh, he had missed this_.

Their teasing continued. Dick told him about the time he and Barbara got caught making out by Catwoman and Roy burned through his rage regarding Oliver (Dick didn’t touch that part himself). Wally made them laugh and Roy played of his jokes. It felt right. It felt great. It felt like home.

The longing ache in his heart felt soothed.

It was then, of course, that the conversation took somewhat of a turn. It was Wally who started it but one look told Dick that Roy was thinking the same. It was Wally who asked:

“Do you want to join the Titans again?”

Dick… Dick was surprisingly floored by this question. It left him hanging in a way he hadn’t known existed. His mind started racing and his heart threatened to skip a beat. Joining the Titans again? What?

For the first time that night his gaze found his left leg – his prosthesis. He had kind of forgotten about it. But now it felt as if he was forced to remember. It felt unreal because he honestly thought it was no longer a problem. There hadn’t been a single day in the last month that had managed to make him feel like this. He was (supposed to be) over this. Fuck, he _was_ Nightwing. He _was_ a Superhero.

But was he a Titan?

“No. No, I can’t join the Titans again. Sorry…”


	3. Year Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time moves on and Dick has to face a decision he ignored for far too long: Joining the Titans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> After months of being absent (from this fic) a wild Aurora appears!  
> But, nevertheless, I brought you a new chapter! And I really hope that all of you enjoy it!  
> Especially since this is my comfort fic. I write chapters for this story over a long time and they're not my focus when things are busy or other projects take center stage - but I also never forget about them! So be assured: While chapters might be far and few in between, the story keeps going! <3
> 
> Warning: Death in the Family and the Killing Joke are happening in this chapter

Nightwing became a fixture on the Gotham night sky. It had taken only half a year and suddenly the papers asked if Nightwing and Batgirl would transcend Batman and Robin. It was a hilarious debate to follow. Especially after him and Barbara had taken down first Killer Croc and then the Scarecrow on their own.

Dick enjoyed it immensely. He had started to read the paper during breakfast solely to keep up with it. The fact that his hero-ing had gotten better and better helped with the slight pinch whenever he read the name of his mentor. He no longer overbalanced when he wore the NOPE and it had been ages since he did a spinning kick with his left instead of his right. There was nothing left in his fighting style that spoke of what had happened years earlier.

And yet they hadn’t talked since Dick threw Bruce out of his apartment. There hadn’t even been a card for his birthday. Or a Congratulation For Not Being Dead Yet.

But Dick was over that now, really, he was. After being asked to join the Team again on his belated birthday, playing with the idea of actually doing so felt far more important than anything Bruce might have said or done. His old team had done good without him, but he knew he could make them great. He could actually help them again.

Barbara supported him fully when he’d asked her. She jokingly told him that it was fucking time for him to get cushy with Wally again before the speedster decided to hug her to death just because Dick wasn’t there to Bro-hug him back. Dick’s answer had only consisted of a grin and a kiss. And a reminder to hang out with Wally a bit more.

But still, it was a hard decision to make. The extreme use of NOPE made him unable to use his daily prostheses too often and while Dick had, honestly, no longer a problem with his lack of leg, taking on the world with crutches was fucking exhausting. He could simulate being fully able-bodied when he wore a prosthetic (and even then, it wasn’t the real deal) but with crutches stairs were even more of a hassle than usual. And Gotham was shit when it came to disabled access for buildings or the metro.

Why didn’t Bruce take care of that, huh? Instead of annoying Dick because he thought it ‘wasn’t safe’ for him to go out at night, Bruce could actually change something. Maybe Gotham would be safer if Bruce fucking Wayne spend his money on projects to make Gotham accessible for people with disabilities. For people like Dick.

All of that was manageable, however. Dick made sure of that. But with the Titans? It would mean longer missions, even more stress, it meant fight after fight after fight without a moment to breathe. It meant showing weakness and pain when it got to be too much. And Dick was shit when it came to that.

It made him ask himself if he should tell all of them his secret ID and not just the inner circle, he considered his family. It made him ask himself if it was safe to be Dick Grayson around them, instead of just Nightwing.

What he said to Roy and Wally a few months ago had been true: He felt ready to be a hero again. But he didn’t know if he was strong enough to be a Titan.

He had filled notebooks with pro and con lists, but no definite result had yet presented itself. Dick was kind of tired of all this thinking, if he was being honest.

Which was why Bruce knocked on his door again, of course.

It was like the man could smell when Dick was in emotional turmoil. It wouldn’t surprise Dick if he could. That creeper would learn such a skill set if it was possible.

“What do you want now?”

Dick was done pretending to be polite when it came to Bruce. He was done with being the nice kid.

“I wanted to talk to you. And offer you an apology.”

That made Dick still in the angry rant he had been preparing in his head. Bruce wanted to say _sorry_? The world must be ending. Or Alfred had finally forced his ward to suck it up. Dick was ready to slam the door in Bruce’s face anyways, but then he risked another glance. And changed his mind.

It was the sincere look in Bruce’s eyes and the complete lack of Batman in his posture that made Dick step back and let Bruce enter.

“You are going to leave if I tell you to. Immediately.”

“Of course.”

“Good”

They got settled on the couch, coffee in front of them, a second try far too similar to the first one, and only then did Dick realize that Bruce hadn’t stopped to stare at his leg even once. Huh. His former guardian might have actually learned his lesson. He might actually be sincere. 

“Talk”

Which didn’t mean that Dick wouldn’t be a bit of a dick to him. After almost two years of minimal contact, Dick felt that to be fair. And Kory told him once that him being salty was “as you humans call it: Sexy” and Barbara had agreed. So, salty it was.

Bruce straightened and looked Dick directly in the eyes when he spoke. There was an almost stifling air of importance around them. That was the look Bruce had had when he told Dick about Batman, when he made him swear to abide to the Code, when he told him about his parents. It was the look that had preceded all important conversations Dick had ever shared with Bruce.

Dick had to swallow even before Bruce started talking:

“I… I’m sorry, Dick. I am truly sorry for how I treated you those last few years. Before your accident as well as after. Especially after. I… I told myself that it was my fault, what had happened, that I was to blame and that you would be better off without me. I didn’t realize that me being here for you, was the one thing I _could_ do. And that made me clam up. I… You suffered for my mistakes and you suffered even more because of my inability to talk to you. And I am truly sorry for that.”

Well, fuck. This was… a lot. All these memories of Bruce talking to him had happened a long, long time ago. He was in no capacity prepared to deal with the emotions Bruce’s words created inside of him, now. It was the most emotionally vulnerable Dick had ever heard Bruce talk. This felt more honest than the conversation they had shared regarding their parents. This felt like Bruce ripping himself open in some last effort to connect with Dick. It frightened him. Profoundly.

“I… I don’t know what you want from me, Bruce. What am I supposed to tell you? Thank you? I’m sorry, too? What do you want to hear?”

Dick was lost. And for once in his life Bruce wasn’t:

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I was the one who took away your autonomy and your integrity. All I want to know is if you are happy. If you are healthy. If you like the person you became. Because - while I might not know everything - I am damn proud of you.”

There should be a legal clause in place that forbade the immense pride and suffering that cursed through Dick’s veins when he heard that last bit. It made him feel like Robin again, constantly trying to gain approval, constantly trying to make Batman proud. He didn’t know why he was so happy and so angry at the same time. He didn’t know how this was possible.

All he knew was that the anger was currently winning. And that he could do nothing to stop it:

“Why? Because your disabled little charity case managed to get his life back on track? Because I am such an ‘inspiration’? You have no idea. You… you shouldn’t be allowed to do this. Your guardianship over me ended over a year ago. There are no legal ties binding us together. Why do you still act like some dad – Newsflash: You never were one.”

His chest was heaving, words pouring out of him with every breath, every exhale:

“Why… do I still want to make you proud? Shouldn’t that be over by now? Shouldn’t I be able to accept that you never saw me as your son and never will? Why? Bruce… you could have been part of my life. You could have been there for me… But you weren’t. There are two years where I could have been your kid, but you wouldn’t have me… so, why now?”

Where had all these words come from? Dick had no idea, but he did feel lighter for having finally spilled them. They had come out angry and sad and filled with tears Dick had never allowed himself to shed.

No matter how often he promised himself to get over Bruce, for him to find closure on this part of his life, he never really succeeded. What a bitch-move from life.

“I… I am so sorry that this is how you feel. It was never my intention to chase you away or to be someone I’m not in your life. Seems like I managed to do both anyways. But… I am proud of you for doing your own thing without me. I am proud of you for everything you did as Robin and for everything you will achieve as Nightwing. I am proud of you for working with Clark and Victor and J’oann and I am proud of you for not letting me stop you. I… I would be more than proud, if I would be allowed to call you my son.”

Bruce’s voice was almost toneless when he spoke, more feeling behind his words that Dick had thought possible. To hear the words ‘my son’ from Bruce threatened to break Dick’s heart. This had not been the answer he had anticipated. Not the words he had counted on hearing today.

“And I know I fucked that one up, so I am going to go now… just… Batman would be more than happy to welcome Nightwing down in the Cave.”

Dick was too stunned to react when Bruce stood up and left. What the ever-loving fuck had that been? 

Too many emotions cursed through Dick. His stomach rolled and Dick knew, would he try to figure out what had just happened – and oh, Dick wanted to know what had made Bruce change his mind, what had turned his emotionless guardian into this regretful man – he would only manage to upset his stomach even further. Or make his heart break even more.

There had been so much frightening honesty in Bruce’s voice and mannerisms. Dick wasn’t sure if he had ever seen Bruce act like this. And wasn’t that just another can of worms? But all this talk about feelings and anger and missed opportunities had done at least some good.

It had helped him make a choice. He dialed Donna’s number. He had a team to rejoin.

“Hey Donna, are you currently busy?”

Dick could hear noises on the other side of the call. It sounded like Roy and Wally. Or maybe Gar?

“No, just training. What’s up?”

“Remember when you guys asked me to come back to the Titans?”

“No!”

Donna’s voice sounded elated. He could practically hear her grin.

“Yes.”

“NO!”

It was hard not to laugh when her joy was this obvious. He hadn’t even truly said the words yet. But Donna knew. She knew and she was fucking happy about it.

“I-“

In the background of Donna’s side of the conversation – if you wanted to call it that – the noise got louder and easier for Dick to understand. It definitely were Roy and Wally, who yelled something that sounded like “Who's on the phone?”, while Dick tried to finally say _the_ words. Donna’s answer, however, directed at their friends and not Dick, made it unnecessary for him to speak:

“Dick is gonna join the team again! The Titans are back together!”

The exhilarating laughter and the cries of joy were obvious enough.

Dick Grayson was a Titan.

Being with the Titans again was fun. And so much less problematic than he’d imagined. 

His friends were the greatest people on earth (and on this side of the galaxy), but what else was new. Whenever the running and jumping and being awesome got too much, Dick excused himself to monitor duty. And none of his friends ever even imagined thinking worse of him for that. Maybe Dick had been the one to overthink this all along.

He still patrolled in Gotham, just not as often anymore. He lost a bit of his one-on-one time with Barbara because of that, but they made up for it by having her visit Titan’s Tower. It was always great to see her interact with his more alien friends and his room in the Tower was secluded enough for a bit of _fun_ time.

His countless attempts to come to a conclusion regarding Bruce, however, remained fruitless. Nothing came of it besides a weird feeling in Dick’s stomach and an accelerated pulse.

At least that’s what he kept telling himself. 

It was Jason that called him that fateful night, which would mark the beginning of yet another end.

Barbara and Commissioner Gordon had been kidnapped by the Joker.

Dick’s blood ran cold. It must have shown on his face, because when he looked up from his phone all his friends at Titans Tower were staring at him. It only took him half a sentence to convince Wally to take him back to Gotham.

When he arrived, the worst was already over. Barbara and her father had been found. Jim Gordon was alive, Barbara barely hanging on in the hospital. It pained Dick to slow down and change into civvies before he could go and visit her.

(And yes, it would always be weird to limp into a hospital after a long day and visit someone else. It was as if people forgot that he could have friends in need too, just because he was obviously lacking something. Common sense, according to his friends. Or self-preservation)

He wasn’t alone when he reached the OR. Jim Gordon sat in one of the chairs the waiting room provided. Dick slowly sat down next to the man, as not to spook him. He didn’t need for Dick to accidentally cause a heart attack as well.

Jim looked ten years older than he had when they had last seen each other a few weeks prior.

“How is she?”

Gordon looked at him then, with contempt and hope in his eyes. Maybe Dick wasn’t the person he had been hoping for. Or maybe he was. Dick just knew that he had to be Dick Grayson tonight and not Nightwing. That Batman and Robin would have to be enough while he sat and waited for Barbara to survive. 

Had his friends and family felt like this? That very first night after his fall? Probably.

“Extensive spinal cord injuries. Head trauma. Broken rips. They are still treating her but it’s up to her if she survives. It’s up to my little girl to survive…”

“We’re lucky then, aren’t we? We both know Babs is a fighter. She’s gonna be just fine.”

Dick had to believe in that. There was no other option or choice. Barbara would survive and she would thrive, and Dick would be there for her. It was just how the world worked.

They sat together the whole night. Not talking, but sharing companionship nonetheless. Jim brought him coffee and Dick shared his snacks. It was early morning when a doctor finally came to talk to them:

“Family of Barbara Gordon?”

“I’m her father. That’s her boyfriend”

Dick nodded even if the commish’s tone had been harsh. The man was under a lot of stress right now. Sparing Dick’s feelings was very low on the list of things to look out for.

“We stabilized her and transferred her to a room in the ICU. Her spinal injuries are severe, however. The bullet lodged itself between L4 and L5 of her lumbar, or lower spinal cord. She will most likely be paraplegic. Other than that, she should make a full recovery. I will send a nurse when she is ready for visitors. One at a time.”

With that the doctor vanished back into the operating room. Gotham was a busy city for doctors and nurses, and they couldn’t spare any time for the finer points of human interaction. They had lives to safe. And they had just saved Barbara’s.

A ginormous wave of relief washed over Dick. Babs was going to be okay. It was going to be okay. Next to him Jim started crying. For a moment Dick didn’t know what to do, and then he reached out and pulled the commissioner in a one-sided hug.

“It’s gonna be alright. She made it.”

“I know. My little girl is alive. My little girl survived.”

Dick held Jim while he cried, letting his own tears run down his face. Distantly he wondered if Bruce had been like this too, that night. Unimportant. That happened in the past, while this was the present.

Dick held onto Jim and Jim held onto him. Together they waited. Together they cried because Barbara had survived.

Dick spend the coming weeks in and out of the Gotham Memorial Hospital, visiting Barbara every chance he got. He was there when she woke up, disoriented, confused, and in pain. And he had held her hand when the doctors told her that she would no longer be able to walk.

His heart bled when he saw the tears running down her face, remembering just what she was going through. That was why he understood her when she banished him from her room two weeks after she woke up.

“It’s not you, Dick.”

“I know”

“I just need to be alone right now.”

“I know”

She stared at him then, disheveled hair and pale even for her standards, and Dick tried to not feel hurt when her eyes glanced down to his leg. He really, truly understood. That didn’t mean that he didn’t have any feelings, though.

“Just call me when you’re feeling better, yeah?”

“Hn”

“I…”

Dick had raised his hand in hopes of being allowed to touch her, but her icy glare stopped him. Right. Bodily autonomy was a complicated subject. One he had strong feelings about, too. And he would respect her boundaries. If that meant asking for consent before every touch, then he would do it. Too many people were currently not respecting her wishes when it came to her body – either by choice or by the need to help her while she couldn’t help herself. It sucked. Horribly.

“Sorry.”

She didn’t answer, instead choosing to stare at the door of her hospital room.

“I just wanted to let you know that I’ll still be there when you’re ready.”

“Why?”

“That’s what best friends do, right? I mean, you were there for me when I needed you. I’m gonna be there for you, too. Especially since we’re even more than friends. Right?”

The tension that fell over the room was stifling. And Dick couldn’t fault her for that. He shouldn’t have started talking about their relationship. That was probably the last thing she wanted to think about right now.

When she finally spoke again, minutes later, she completely ignored his last words, instead she repeated the sentence which had greeted him, when he had opened the door to her room an hour earlier:

“I just want you to leave me alone, okay?”

And Dick did. He left her room, his trust in her intact. They would be okay again, someday.

She would be okay.

Leaving was the right thing to do. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to cope in the most Bat-way possible: He had finally taken up Bruce’s offer to use the Batcave. 

With the Joker currently back at Arkham, Dick still needed to blow off some steam. He took to training in the Cave, to going out with Batman and Robin at night. Nobody said anything if he was a bit harsher with criminals than necessary. If his fists found more vulnerable spots than usual. If Nightwing became a bit darker.

Batman himself seemed badly shaken up as well. Jason had screamed with rage when Bruce told him that Arkham was all they could do against the Joker. Dick had wanted to scream too, but some part of him agreed with Bruce: They couldn’t kill, no matter what. No matter how much they wanted to.

But Jason was even more disagreeable than normal. Dick knew that Jason liked Barbara, but he was impressed by just how much his little brother cared for her. When asked why, Jason just beamed at him and said:

“She’s fucking Batgirl. A normal girl deciding to be a hero without Batman to hide behind. And she could totally kick your ass!”

Which – while true – was adorable and heartbreaking at the same time. Barbara deserved to create this kind of burning passion in people. She was awesome after all. And that Jason – Robin – of all people saw her potential was just great. The two of them could be each other’s biggest fans and Dick could understand why Jason liked Batgirl so much. He loved her, too, after all.

But Dick knew that Barbara had a lot of adjusting to do in the future. **Batgirl** was most likely over. Not the hero part, no, never, but the part of her life where Batgirl was the moniker of her choice. Accidents and traumas like theirs changed you. They transformed how you looked at the world. And Barbara had been a woman for years now. It was time her hero-name reflected that.

Dick would tell her just that when she was ready to hear it. 

Until then this punching bag was far more interesting for his fists and thoughts. 

“You favor your right leg”

 _Yeah, no shit, Sherlock_. But Dick didn’t grace Bruce with an answer out loud, instead he waited for the other shoe to drop. The shocked intake of breath only moments later was more satisfying than anything that had happened in the last two weeks.

“I’m so sorry, Dick. I didn’t mean…”

A breathless laugh escaped him. It was still so weird to see Bruce - freaking Batman - walk around eggshells when it came to him and his loss of leg. It was better than the guilty silent treatment, of course, but terribly weird and a little insulting.

“I favor my right leg because I can’t really control the force I use with my left. There are a few too many criminals out there who ended up with worse than necessary injuries because I used my left one for a spinning kick.”

He looked at Bruce then because he could feel the scrutinizing gaze of his mentor. Bruce was clearly contemplating something. It was a typical look on Batman and one Dick didn’t particularly like.

“What? Spit it out?”

“Hn… I noticed differences in your gait during patrol, of course, but you and Barbara made sure to keep me from accessing the capabilities of your Nightwing prosthetic. What exactly can you do with it?”

Only a month ago Dick would have spit in his face. And while things weren’t okay between them - not for a long shot - Nightwing worked with Batman at last. And Batman needed to know what his allies could and couldn’t do.

“What NOPE can do? It enhances my ability to jump by 3 feet, and kicks are up to twice as forceful as they were before. I also have storage for snacks and equipment. Everything a night-time vigilante needs.”

“Hn”

Bruce only nodded before wandering off. Dick wanted to punch him right there, but he didn’t. All of them had far too much on their minds right now. Social cues were lost on Bruce most of the time and during stressful periods? Well, good luck.

Time, well, time moved on. Barbara hadn’t yet contacted him, only told him through her father that she wanted more space. More distance. Dick reminded her a bit too much of what she had lost. And just because Dick understood, didn’t mean that it hurt any less. Emotions were a bitch.

Instead he decided to focus on cases centered in Gotham. He needed to be home just in case Barbara decided to reach out. Just in case the Joker broke out and Dick could get a chance at punching the clown’s teeth in. 

And to be there for Jason. His little brother was 15 now and fighting with Bruce. Constantly. In a way he reminded Dick of himself, of that last year before the accident and the many that followed. But he wouldn’t let his misguided grief over things, that were no longer relevant, ruin his relationship with Jason.

Instead he let him sleep at his apartment whenever he needed to cool off. Instead he made room for this little, angry gremlin. They played video games together, they ate junk food, and whenever the night had finally progressed enough, Jason would spill the beans. About the fight. About the fear.About what Bruce meant to him. About what being Robin meant to him. 

It hurt to hear all that. It hurt and healed to know that Robin had not only saved him, but Jason too. He didn’t know how to react to those deep revelations, though, so he went with the Dick Grayson special: He hugged Jason tight and told him everything would be alright. 

He did the same thing the night Jason came to him because of a case he and Bruce were working on. The night in which Felipe Garzonasa fell.

Jason was sitting on his couch, face pale and drawn. When Dick had opened the door, he had thought Bruce was dead with all the dread radiating from Jason. Luckily, that wasn’t the case. But something else was.

And so, Dick did the only thing he could think of: He pulled his fluffiest blanket out of the closet, made a pot of hot chocolate, and forced Jason to sit down on his couch, when the shaking didn’t stop. Jason was in shock. And apparently Dick had been the person he had felt safe enough to seek out while being this vulnerable.

It took a few hours for him to calm down, and Dick was starting to get sick of CoD, when Jason finally spoke:

“Bruce is gonna hate me.”

Dick couldn’t stop his head from whipping around and staring at his little brother. Yeah, Bruce and Jason fought, but Bruce _loved_ Jason, adored him. Sometimes when Dick was in the Cave, all he could see was how openly affectionate Bruce was with Jason. How much he cared for the little shit.

(And sometimes Dick didn’t even feel the burning jealously when Bruce told Jason just how well he had performed)

“He isn’t. He’s your dad. He loves you.”

“Not after tonight”

Jason’s answers were sparse, not even the hot chocolate could really loosen his tongue. And Dick didn’t know what to do. He pressed his shoulder against Jason’s as a silent show of support, but it felt inadequate, as if he should have done more.

“Yes, even after tonight. Though, I still don’t know what happened.”

“I killed someone”

Dick couldn’t keep himself from flinching when he heard the words that had left Jason’s mouth. His tone had been almost careless, but one look told Dick that Jason was dissociating. _That_ spurred him into action. Dick collected his and Jason’s cup and placed them on the table, before kneeling down and taking Jason’s face between his hands:

“Jason, look at me.”

It took too long for Jason’s eyes to find Dick.

“No matter what happened tonight, it’s gonna be alright. But first, I need you to breathe. And I need you to focus on me. Can you do that?”

Jason was slow to respond, but he did. His gaze became sharper and his breathing started to deepen.

“Tell me five things you can see.”

“Your stupid face.”

A solid beginning.

“The desk, the couch, the dead plant… that picture over there.”

Dick could feel how Jason started to calm down beneath his hands.

“Four things you can feel?”

“Your sweaty paws on my face, the Superman blanket… the AC… and… and the bruise from fighting Dent last night”

“Three things you-“

“I am calm again, Dickface.”

Dick wasn’t so sure about that, but one look into the determined face of his little brother told him to drop it.

“Okay”

“And thanks… I… I kind of got lost in my head for a bit, I guess.”

Jason really did seem apologetic. Dick wanted to pull him into a hug and tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that it would be okay, but until he knew all of the fact, Dick could promise nothing. And worthless promises were nothing Dick liked to deal in.

So, instead he tried to take his place by Jason’s side again, completely miscalculating how hard it would be to get back up from the floor when you were kneeling. And had only one leg. He overbalanced, and rather than elegantly standing up, he tumbled onto the floor. Completely. Face first into the carpet.

One look into Jason’s direction, however, told him, that his clumsiness had at least managed to draw a slight smile out of Jason.

“Come help this old man up.”

“Yes, since you’re basically ancient!”

“Hey!”

“I mean, you’re what? Almost 20? I can’t even imagine being that old! Did you see the pyramids being built?”

Their banter came naturally, even if Dick knew that they still needed to talk. But a tiny bit of distraction wouldn’t harm anybody, right?

“Just you wait! One day you’ll be an old, old man and you’ll feel bad for making fun of my youthful self!”

“Keep on dreaming!”

Back on the couch Dick leaned against Jason. Joking together was nice, but he could feel the tension returning to the room. They really had to talk. And Dick was the adult in this situation, wasn’t he? Aw, shit.

“Are you ready to tell me what happened now?”

Jason didn’t look it, but one deep breath and a pat on the back from Dick later, he was talking:

“Bruce and I, we were investigating this dude, Felipe Garzonasa. He raped a bunch of women, some of them killed themselves, and…”

Dick could feel how the air left his body. Cases like this were always hard. They gnawed on your bones and threatened to swallow you whole. And for Jason? It had to be even worse. The boy had seen what rape and drugs did to people first-hand. All Dick could do was offer his comfort in form of a one-sided hug, signaling that it was okay for Jason to continue:

“And I cornered him. On the balcony of his apartment. Bruce had… We both knew that Garzonasa would never end up behind bars. Bastards like him never get what they deserve. But it was something else to have him laugh in my face and tell me that he would never go to prison because he was fucking rich. Because he knew the right people.”

Ah, Gotham at its best: Corrupt, dirty, and run by the mafia. Run by the worst of the worst.

“And then he slipped. And I honestly don’t know what happened.”

There were tears running down Jason’s cheeks now and Dick did the only thing he could: He hugged his little brother tight, waiting for him to calm down enough to continue speaking:

“Shh, I’m listening. It’s alright”

“It’s just… I wanted to push him so bad. I wanted him dead. And then he was suddenly falling. And I don’t know… what if I was the one pushing him? What if I killed him? What if Bruce hates me now?”

Dick listened and listened and hugged. But internally? He didn’t know how to proceed either.

Bruce would be furious. And anxious. And nervous. At least partially, rightfully so. Someone had fallen. Someone had died. And Jason had been there. Something like this shouldn’t happen in their line of work. Wasn’t allowed to happen. And yet it had.

But Dick felt lenient, too. Jason was still just a child. Mistakes were made and even if Jason pushed Felipe, he felt bad about it. And they didn’t even know if he did! His remorse was all that counted. At least to Dick. And Dick would make sure that Bruce felt the same. A warning about deteriorating Father-Son relationships should do it. Dick knew how to push the buttons and he wouldn’t hesitate to push them.

But before Dick could ring true to his promise of talking to Bruce, the Titans answered a call for an off-world mission.

Dick had never been off-world for longer than a day and it sounded awesome. It sounded like something far away from murdering little brothers and breaking relationships. It sounded like an A++ opportunity to run away for a bit.

(And hadn’t it been ages since he had last done that? Wasn’t he allowed to run away again?)

He agreed and suddenly there was so much to do, that Jason got kind of forgotten. Or not forgotten, that was too harsh of a word. Jason’s troubles with Bruce just got pushed further and further down on the list of things Dick Grayson had to solve. To do. It sucked but honestly: _Outer Space_.

It would do Dick some good to be a few galaxies away from worrying about Barbara (and he left her multible messages) and Jason (he had made sure the boy had his emergency contact information). Dick just needed some space – _hah!_ – to be himself again. To stop trying to hold the Gotham Gang together.

Some days it felt as if Dick was the only link that made sure Bruce, Jason, and Barbara continued existing. And he was a broken link, someone who hadn’t completely healed himself yet. So, he had to step away for a moment. Otherwise he would break, sooner rather than later and that wouldn’t be a happy sight. For no one involved, but especially not for those who counted on him.

It was easier being Dick with the Titans, sometimes, and he knew a month on a ship with them would do him some good. Would fix the cracks he felt threatening to return.

It was a whirlwind of preparations and last minute fix-its, but if everything went alright, Dick would celebrate his 20th birthday on a space station with the people closest to him, except, of course, a few notable exceptions. 

They set sail and everything went great. He spent time with Kory, and she told him about Tamaran and growing up as a princess. He joked with Wally and Roy and Donna, and sparred with all of them. He spent long days lounging around and short days fighting bad guys. 

It was a vacation of the superhero kind.

But they had to return. And they did. Two days before his birthday their ship landed back in San Francisco. With his phone logging back into the American Mobile Network and a hot bath (and a week without a prosthetic) in his near future, Dick couldn’t wait to finally get home. As much as he loved his friends, he currently loved his own bed more.

There were two messages on his phone, however, when he checked. The older one was from Jason, the newer one from Barbara. Both were very short. Both made dread pool in his stomach. Something told him that his bath had just been canceled.

Jason’s, dated three weeks prior, was simply “I have news” and the one Barbara had sent him contained a dreadful “Call me!”.

Dick didn’t want to. He did it anyway:

“Dick?”

Her voice sounded wrecked. Dick didn’t know if it was because of something regarding her health or if it was something completely different that made her sound so broken. He hadn’t heard her voice in far too long, he was unable to tell. He had forgotten how to speak Barbara.

“Babs? You said I should call you…?”

Dick was tired. He had been fighting aliens for over a month. He wanted a bath, sleep, some cereal and someone to massage the tension out of his left limb. He knew he would be getting none of that. He knew his world would be destroyed once again instead.

“Oh, Dick… I… has Bruce talked to you?”

“No. No call. Nothing. Why? You’re scaring me, Babs.”

“I… Dick… Jason… Jason is dead. Killed by the Joker. Two weeks ago.”

The floor vanished under him. He fell to his knees in a graceless heap, not processing, not understanding, not believing. 

“What? That… please tell me that isn’t true? Please… please…”

Tears were streaming down his face. He... He wanted. No. He… this had to be a lie. It had to! What would he do if it wasn’t? This couldn’t be true. This wasn’t true. No. Not Jason _. Not his little brother_. **NO**! Not now... No... Dick couldn't... **Not Jason!**

“I’m so sorry. I… I’m so, so sorry. My dad told me… the press knows, but I’m not sure if Bruce has talked to anyone since… I… I am so sorry, Dick.”

Barbara was crying, Dick realized. Well, he was crying, too. Drowning in his own tears. But he couldn’t succumb to his horror and his grief just yet. There was something that had piqued his interest, something he had to know:

“Bruce? Why hasn’t he called me? He… he was able to. He was able to contact our ship. Why hasn’t he called? Babs? Why didn’t he tell me? I…”

He had to call Bruce. He had to. It was important. It felt almost as important as the hole in his heart did. His friends had gone home too, nobody knowing that Dick’s world would break apart only moments later, and still all Dick did wish for was a tight hug and someone to tell him that everything would be okay. That this was a nightmare. That his little brother wasn’t dead.

_That his little brother wasn’t dead._

Without another word he ended his call to Barbara. Instead he dialed the number of the Manor, his fingers shaking while he dialed. It rang for a long time. But finally - _finally!_ \- Alfred picked up. Only hearing the haggard sound of Alfred’s voice confirmed everything. His little brother really was dead. God, _no_.

 _Jason was dead_.

“Wayne Manor. Please state your request”

“Alfie…”

“Master Dick. You are back, I see”

“Is… is it true? Please, Alfie… is it true? Is Jason really dead?”

“I… I am sorry, but yes. Master Jason has… died”

Dick would love to be mad. Would love to hate Alfred for not telling him, but he could hear the un-shed tears in the Butler’s voice. He could hear his own pain reflected right back at him. 

“Oh… why? _Bruce_?”

“I am afraid Master Bruce has not yet left the downstairs to take care of the more personal businesses… like calling his son about his brother’s… demise. I am truly sorry, Master Dick. I… I was so consumed by my own grief…”

“No. Not your fault… I guess, I missed the funeral?”

“I’m afraid so”

“Oh… Alfie? Tell Bruce not to call me. I think I need so space. And… I am sorry, too.”

Dick ended the call and did what he did best: He started to run.

He spent his 20th birthday on a park bench in Chicago, with some beer and without anything else.

Without his dead little brother.

Without his injured girlfriend.

Without his worried friends.

Without the phone he chucked into the water after it started blowing up.

Without a college education.

Without a home.

Without a leg.

Without anything to look forward to.

Only his grief accompanied him. A silent shadow much more bearable than the guilt that dried to drown him when he was sober.

“Happy Birthday to me, I guess”

It was nobody there to hear his silent toast, and it was nobody there to see the tears run down his cheeks.

Three months later found him in Blüdhaven.

The city was dirty when he walked its streets for the first time, the smog hanging over the city just as bad as Gotham’s.

Dick had told no one where he was, even if he was sure that Batman knew anyways. If he cared enough to check, that was. But for the rest of the world Dick had vanished.

Dick Grayson was no longer. And that was just the way he liked it.

Because Dick Grayson had ceased to exist the day his little brother died. The day his girlfriend got shot. The day his dad had stopped talking to him. The day Dick had lost his leg. The day Two-Face beat him bloody. The day his parents fell to their death.

The day the universe had decided to constantly fuck him over.

And maybe it would stop if he just ceased to be. If Dick Grayson was no longer.

Blüdhaven was as good a starting point for that as any.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back? It's depression, Baby!  
> (Just a reminder that Dick is definitely not a reliable narrator)


	4. Year Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick has reached Blüdhaven, years after he first set out to conquer it. He is tired and broken - and he won't be able to run away from his issues forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello? She said... six months after she last updated this fic? It is an honor to meet you?   
> Chapter 4 is here - thanks to Jinmukang, who kicked me in the butt and demanded I write this!  
> Special thanks to Neptance as well - your betaing saved me!!!

Blüdhaven was what Dick had always wanted.

A dirty hole, a place of no regrets and no return. He had wanted to come here three years prior as a way of distancing himself from Bruce, as a way of misguided self-flagellation and hate. But they hadn’t let him.

Now he was here anyways.

And he had taken Nightwing with him.

Which meant that everybody knew by now that he’d moved here. It was hard to stay under the radar when you couldn’t move past the need to be a hero. The need to feel something. The need to feel alive. The need to jump and fly and  _ fall _ .

When you were still so self-absorbed that you donned the spandex each night.

It had been easy enough to fit in with the general Blüdhaven population after he got there, nobody caring for yet another nobody trying to get away. It had been even easier to let college go, not even trying to reapply when he got the letter stating the beginning of the new semester was approaching.

Blüdhaven was a city full of people who had given up on hope, who were no longer capable of caring, and Dick could see the poetic justice of him – listless and angry – trying to save a city that was just as bad. That was just as done with life as Dick tended to be these days.

No one stopped him when he got a job in a dingy cop bar, searching for trouble and information. No one cared that he wasn’t twenty-one yet or that he’d lost a leg. If someone still asked, Dick told them some wild story about Gotham and her heroes who couldn’t do shit. It felt as if he was talking about himself. And maybe he was. Maybe all Dick could do was talk about himself and act as if it was someone else he was hating.

As much as Dick wanted to vanish, as much as he wanted to disappear completely, he knew his friends wouldn’t let him. That after the last time (after Dick had been vulnerable enough to tell Roy how close it had been) Roy would kill him personally if Dick dropped off the face of the earth again. But there was not much he could do. The sadness was dragging him under and under and under, until he was in so deep, he couldn’t even begin to hope to ever see the light again, to ever breathe fresh air again.

But he tried. He set reminders on his phone, which told him to call one of the Titans at least once a week. He had alarms making sure to remind him that Alfred wanted a check-in every once in a while, just to ensure that not another one of his grandsons had died.

He talked to Wally and Roy and Donna. But never Kory or Barbara. He called Alfred and Leslie, but never Bruce. 

Because he was falling apart. And he couldn’t bear anyone looking at him while he did.

His prostheses needed upgrades rather urgently but neither talking to the JL nor returning to Gotham for a check-up felt doable. It was unachievable, just leaving his house for work was out of his reach some days – there was no chance in hell he would make it to Gotham. Just the idea of having to face Dr. Quinn or even Dr. Romanova made nausea bubble in his stomach. They had helped him so much over the last few years and yet here he was, disappointing them once again with his mere existence. They deserved better than having him call them up because he fucked up his prosthetic.

And Dick wasn’t really in the mood to be yelled at. Even if he deserved it.

His new apartment wasn’t made to handle his needs either. It was located in a shitty part of town – the only one he could afford with his bartender salary – and it was neither accessible nor built to help him cope with life. There were no handles to help him out of bed, nor was there enough space for a wheelchair if he was hurt badly enough to resort to using his. The shower was a nightmare and he had to use a kitchen chair in it if he wanted to lower the risks of injury.

He still fell. It still hurt.

Dick was falling apart. Piece by piece. Both figuratively and literally.

He either slept too much or not enough. His pay made it impossible to eat healthy in any capacity, and cooking himself was a chore that cost energy, energy he didn’t have most of the time. More than once he was confronted with the fact that he was only able to move as freely as he did, because of Bruce’s money. Because even now, even after three years of living on his own, the prostheses Bruce had paid for were the only reason he could go to work or take the stairs at all.

Even if he didn’t want to do either.

Even if he never wanted to touch anything Bruce had paid for ever again. 

Because it had been Bruce who made them lose Jason. Because it had been Bruce who killed his little brother. It had been Bruce who cost them everything they had worked so hard for.

Because being angry made the voice in his head bearable. Being angry meant not having to listen to his own thoughts. His own guilt.

(Your fault.  _ Your fault _ . YOUR FAULT.  **your fault** . Your Fault. Your fault)

And in his keenness to get away, he didn’t really count on anyone coming for him either.

He was utterly surprised to hear knocking on his door one day, only to open it and see Barbara Gordon in all her glory on the other side. They hadn’t talked in months. Heck, he hadn’t seen her since she threw him out of her hospital room after the Joker attack.

He hadn’t realized how much he had missed her.

She looked beautiful. Her red hair was in a high ponytail, her eyes shadowed in the ways of a nighttime vigilante, her clothes fitting and not in the way of her chair.  _ The chair _ . Dick hadn’t even realized it was there at first. He had only seen her. How could he not? She was a powerful sight to behold.

(And, of course, his apartment complex had an elevator. He was broke, not suicidal. Probably.  _ As of yet _ . Most likely.)

And for a moment he understood. People who loved you saw  _ you _ not your disability. And even with that disability being a part of you, it didn’t stop people from looking at you and loving you. It didn’t stand in the way of them truly taking you in. They saw every single part of you and loved you even more for it.

Had she seen the same in him three years prior? Probably. 

Because he saw her like that just now.

He saw how she commanded the room - or his tiny, dingy apartment -, saw her regal pose and the queen-like force behind each of her movements. He saw her, Barbara Gordon, for the person she was.

“Why are you here?”

“Because someone needed to do it. Bruce is not going to because of his own fucked up issues and your friends are too far away. So, here I am. Ready to kick your ass. Let’s go out and get some coffee!”

She turned around, never intending to grace his disgusting apartment with her presence. For a moment fear clouded Dick’s mind, telling him that she would leave him behind, that he had made a mistake somewhere in their 20 second interaction. But, no, that was utter bullshit, his brain trying to destroy the only good thing that had happened to him in months.

Barbara was leading the way, not leaving him; she created a path he would be able to follow.

And he did.

He couldn’t compare to her beauty when they left the apartment building behind, dressed in his ratty old hoodie – a piece of clothing that hadn’t seen a washing machine in ages – a pair of jeans, with more holes than thought possible. Together with his crutches he created an image closer to a homeless person than to the heroic partner he had once been.

(even though that was probably unfair regarding the homeless – they had more style than him by a long shot)

He just hoped she didn’t care for this.

No, he  _ knew _ she didn’t care for this.

Instead of talking they made their way downtown in silence, through the dirty streets that made up Blüdhaven, through the dirty streets that Dick had sworn to protect. Halfway to the coffee shop of Barbara’s choosing, she suddenly turned to look at him, and when he stared back, she smiled.

“What?”

“I just thought something pretty dumb and you are allowed to be offended but…”

“But what?”

Dick was intrigued. It was rare for Barbara to not just outright say something. She was a firecracker, often voicing her opinions before she stopped to think about what she had said or done. More often than not, she was like him in that department. But then again, they hadn’t talked for more than half a year.

Were they even still dating? 

“It is kind of nice to walk down a street with someone you know is unable to try and push your chair. I think I almost dislocated my dad’s shoulder last week when we went to the grocery store and he wanted to push me on the way there.”

Dick laughed. It felt good. It felt foreign. It felt forbidden.

But still…  _ good _ . 

“I mean… I hope you know that I wouldn’t try to push you even if my hands were free. Cause, you know, I kind of get it. People trying to help. Feeling helpless. Being angry about all of that…”

“And do you feel helpless right now?”

Her words stopped him right then and there.

They stood in the middle of the sidewalk, taking up space and getting stares galore. They weren’t the most inconspicuous of people making their way through Blüdhaven on a normal day. Her chair and his sewn-up pants leg made them the target of public scrutiny wherever they went, but out in the public? Together? Dick was just grateful no bus driver created an accident because he was too busy gawking at them and  _ the moment _ they were having, to pay attention to the traffic.

His eyes met hers in the midst of all this staring:

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. But not because of my leg. Really, that stopped bothering me as soon as everything else started going to shit. I’m just…”

What were the words he was looking for? What was the correct answer?

He didn’t know. He never knew anymore.

Barbara must have sensed that too because she motioned for him to start walking again. 

The coffee shop Barbara had chosen was full, but it was the only wheelchair accessible one in a two-mile radius. Somehow, they managed to get a place anyway, squeezing themselves behind a table in the far corner of the room. A pretty barista brought them their orders, and they both smiled when he sat it down in front of them. Not having to fight through the masses of the coffee shop crowd was always a relief. 

It was Barbara that started their conversation back up again:

“I’m going back into the hero business”

She said it like a challenge. As if she wanted Dick to disagree.

He couldn’t do it.

He knew how much she needed support and love and understanding. He knew just how ready to fight she was. It hadn’t been too long since he had been where she was now, wishing for nothing more than for Bruce to stand by his side. Wishing for nothing more than his family supporting him.

“Cool. How? What’s your new moniker?”

“I deserve— Oh.”

And then she laughed. It was a beautiful sound. He could have fallen in love with her just because of her laugh but everything else she did was entrancing too. He tended to get lost in her laugh – or at least that had been the case when he’d still seen her daily.

But just hearing it right now, reminded his heart of all the times it had fluttered in excitement in the past just because of her. Just because of that beautiful sound she could make.

And yet he knew it was a sound that happened far too seldom. 

“I had a whole PowerPoint ready, but yeah… I thought of building up an information network. Batgirl was always awfully good at hacking and collecting intel. Maybe it is time for  _ Oracle _ to make a job out of it”

“Oracle… I like it. It has a nice and mysterious ring to it.”

She smiled and without a second of hesitation Dick could feel himself smile back. They drank their coffee and for the first time in quite a while a feeling of contentment settled over him. But of course, this conversation wasn’t over yet:

“How are you doing, Dick?”

“I… I am trying. Possibly failing,  _ but God _ , am I trying.”

“Can I help?”

“I think you just did. Thank you. Babs, I…”

“Yes?”

“I love you. And I am so sorry that I didn’t keep the promises I made. I’m sorry that I didn’t keep a fuckton of promises I made. I’m trying. I really am. And I am going to keep trying with you. If you want me to. But…”

There were tears collecting in Dick’s eyes. Tears that spilled down his cheeks. They both knew he wasn’t just talking to her; he was talking to Jason as well. He hadn’t even visited the grave of his little brother yet.

Just another person he had disappointed. 

When she put her hand on his, the warmth surprised him. It had been ages since someone touched him. He had forgotten how much he craved it. He had forgotten how much he longed and needed physical touch, how much it grounded him, made him feel real.

“I am… I am not going to tell you that everything is okay – or was okay. I wanted you ages ago, and you were gone. You weren’t there when you promised me you would be. But… I understand. And I can live with you trying. Because honestly? You blame yourself so much you don’t need other people doing it for you, too.”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“I mean, have you seen your ass?”

With that laughter mixed itself with his tears. He felt warm. Oh, so warm. There were people surrounding him. There were people who wanted to see him move on and succeed. There was a strong woman in front of him.

There was hope. 

God, he had missed feeling alive.

A month later saw Dick searching through his phone, until his thumb hovered over a number he hadn’t called in ages.  _ Dinah _ . He had walked circles into the carpet of his shit apartment over the last few weeks. Ever since Barbara had visited him, Dick couldn’t stop thinking about the therapist. About all the times she had helped him before – saved him before.

He pressed call.

The joy in her voice blew Dick away. The utter relief that spilled from every word she said, every sentence they exchanged, healed something deep inside of him. He hadn’t counted on anyone actually being happy to hear from him. Maybe that was why he agreed when she asked him to meet her in her city office.

Maybe that was why he said yes, when she asked him if he wanted to try medication for his depression.

Her eyes were full of understanding, her voice that of a person who had to deal with stubborn superheroes and their dislike for outside help quite frequently. But she said it. She asked him if he was ready to try this different approach. And she was right.

He had tried therapy, he had tried telling himself that everything would turn out alright – and he kind of sucked at it.

He couldn’t keep on running whenever another stone was thrown into his path. He was a hero, his entire existence was just one big inconvenience, one trauma after another, a normal approach wouldn’t work – but maybe it could help. It felt weird to admit that, weird to sit in front of someone who had known him since he was nine and tell them that, yes, maybe taking antidepressants would be a good idea.

That maybe Dick needed help in a way that reached further than just therapy. That Dick couldn’t do this on his own. That these feelings he carried with him were too much for him to bear alone.

Dick Grayson needed help. And just this once, he was ready to ask for it.

What made it even weirder was… in a way, this was the biggest step Dick had taken so far to distance himself from Bruce. Neither Nightwing nor moving to Blüdhaven had been monumental changes away from Bruce’s teachings. But going to therapy? Taking pills to make sure he didn’t want to die? Bruce would never.

But Dick did.

There were happier moments as well. There was Dick calling Wally while his friend was on a mission, and Wally running into a wall because he was so overjoyed with Dick asking him to stay for a weekend that he did what no speedster should ever do: He stopped paying attention to his surroundings. While he was running. In the middle of a chase.

Dick heard the crash through the phone, shortly followed by Wally’s assurance that he was okay and that he would love to spend the weekend together.

Dick couldn’t help himself, he was grinning when he ended their phone call.

Dick heard the sound of his doorbell one evening, maybe two months into his weekly sessions with Dinah, only to open the door and see Donna and Roy standing in front of his door. They both had a six-pack of beer in their arms, and crooked smiles on their face.

“What are you doing here?”

The confusion in his voice was real, as were the stupid grins on their faces. Roy didn’t even wait for Dick to step aside, before making his way into the apartment. He sounded mischievous when he said:

“We are here to stage an intervention. All your tie-dye pullovers need to burn. All of them!”

“Yep. And we thought we’d bring some fun as well!” Donna agreed.

Her voice left no room for disagreements, and Dick knew this evening was in the hands of his friends and he would be forced to follow along with whatever weird or dangerous plan they had.

They moved into the living room, both of them willfully ignoring the mess that greeted their eyes, when Dick finally regained his senses, his ability to speak:

“Hey! My hoodies are fine! They are colorful and fun! We are not going to burn them.”

“That’s what you think… and we have to save you from yourself. I am sorry, but that is the truth.”

Donna was grinning when she said that, and for a moment Dick was sixteen again, fighting against some bad guy, Donna by his side, both of them grinning as they finished him off. That had been the happy days, when all of them had already lost so much, but not yet too much.

They had all changed since then, something wild taking hold of Roy, something mature making Donna the only adult of their group, and yet here they were, sitting in his dirty living room and fighting over the acceptable color scheme a hoodie was allowed to have.

He had missed this. And he had missed the hugs and cuddles they showered him with even more.

It was later the same evening, when Roy was softly snoring on the couch Dick had gotten off of craigslist, that Donna joined him on the floor, her eyes as understanding as ever:

“How are you holding up?”

Dick looked at her and for a moment he toyed with the idea of lying. But, no, he was sick of hiding the truth. He was sick… and the way alcohol mixed with his meds made his tongue loose and his thoughts heavy:

“Why can’t everything be just… okay?”

“What do you mean?”

He sent her a look that said ‘are you kidding?’ and a raised eyebrow to drive his point home, but Donna didn’t relent. She never did. Maybe she could even out-stubborn him – no, fuck that, she most definitely could.

“I mean… I am doing everything, I can. I… once a week, I meet Babs and for a few hours the world is great. Or I talk to Dinah and feel almost normal. Or… or you guys show up and we spent time together and I almost feel like myself again… but then… one of us leaves… or I have to go… or… why can’t I just be happy?”

Donna’s arms were strong and warm when they pressed him close against her chest, and Dick melted into her touch. Even the rekindling of his romantic and platonic relationships couldn’t stop him from being touch-starved as fuck.

“In Themyscira, nothing ever truly changes, and… even there nobody is truly happy. Do you know why?”

“No, but I am sure you will tell me in a moment.”

“Shut your mouth, boy wonder. It’s because… you need change for happiness. You need darkness to see the light, and you need life with all its tragedies to experience great happiness. Nothing is forever. Not the sadness holding your heart hostage right now, nor the joy you might experience tomorrow.”

Donna sounded so sage when she whispered those words, and Dick was once again reminded that the Titans truly were his family. He loved them. And maybe he was lucky. He had Donna, after all, and Roy. He had Kory and Wally and Garth. He had Barbara. Sometimes he had Alfred.

Maybe one day he would even have Bruce.

It just… right now, it felt so far away. All of it.

“But what if I am not strong enough to find that joy tomorrow?”

“That’s what we’re here for, dipshit. As your friends it is our holy duty to force your ass into gear. Aren’t I right, Roy?”

“Love you, Dick…” came the sleepy reply, Roy only blinking once, before he turned around and went back to sleep.

Dick had missed this. He really, really had.

“Love you, too.”

The next morning half his clothes were missing, replaced with Teen Titans merch and Dick couldn’t even be mad – but maybe he was thinking about revenge.

The phone was shaking in his hand, but Dick… he needed this. He needed this so badly, and he was afraid. Not because of what the person on the other side of the line would say, should Dick manage to press the call button, but of what would happen if he didn’t.

To say he was having a bad day, would put it lightly.

He had woken up with a growing red stain on his leg, the limb not supporting his weight, even as Dick struggled to find the med kit to take care of the stab wound he had forgotten to remedy the night before. It had grown worse after that, his coffee machine breaking, the TV remote falling behind the kitchen counter, and Dick unable to retrieve it.

The entire day the feeling inside his chest had festered and now… now he could no longer ignore it.

He pressed call.

“Yes?” Kory’s voice answered after the fourth ring. She sounded sleepy, and when Dick glanced towards the clock on his oven, he saw that it was 4pm, and that Kory had probably just napped. Fuck. He had never planned on waking her up… this was a mistake… he should… fuck… his hands were trembling.

“Richard? Is that you?”

She sounded worried.

She had every right to be. Dick Grayson’s fragile mental state hadn’t been a secret in the superhero community for a long time now.

“Yes… I… I…”

“Where are you?”

“At home.”

And as sad as it was, this dirty hole was his home. The broken coffee maker, the dripping faucet, the chair in the small shower… all of these things were his home. Because he didn’t deserve better… because he couldn’t afford anything better.

“In Blüdhaven?” Kory sounded uncertain and Dick hated her for it. But she had every right to question him. Back when the two of them had been more than friends, Kory had only known the Manor as his home. And it wasn’t as if Dick had been diligent in keeping steady contact with her.

“Yeah…”, he ground out through clenched teeth, the urge to hit his head against the counter was unbelievably strong. But he didn’t. He counted prime numbers loudly in his head, he balled his free hand into a painful fist… he didn’t hurt himself.

“I will be there in half an hour. Is that okay? Do I need to call someone else?”

“No… It is fine. I… I will be there when you get here. Don’t- You don’t have to call anyone, Kory. Thank you…”

“If you say so… Look after yourself, Richard.”

A loud beep signaled the end of the call, and Dick exhaled, his head connecting with the cupboard he was leaning against. His leg throbbed. He should really take care of that stab wound. But… just as everything right now, it was too much of a bother.

Instead Dick waited. He sat on the floor, feeling miserable and sad, while Kory probably almost worried herself to death. But she had been the one he needed right now. She was the one who would be able to help him – and she would be the one who knew him well enough not to ask questions.

His eyes were drifting shut, when Starfire stepped in through his window, fiery hair aflame behind her. She was a sight to behold, even if Dick didn’t love her like  _ that  _ anymore. She saw him sitting on the dirty floor, and the concern on her face grew, if that was even possible:

“Richard! Are you okay?”

Her voice was loud as she rushed towards him. Dick only answered her when she was kneeling in front of him, her hands ghosting over his hurt leg, without ever touching him:

“I… Can you take me flying?”

“What?”

“Can you take me flying? My entire skin is itching with the need right now, and… and I can’t satisfy this urge in any meaningful way… but you can. Take me flying… please…”

Worry was still visible in her face, her green eyes reflections of strength and warmth. This time she touched him when she leaned forward, her hands warm, and her smile welcoming:

“Of course. But first I will take care of your leg. Donna and Garth would kill me should you come to harm. And then we will fly.”

He watched as she cleaned his wound, and he watched as she passed him a glass of water and his bottle of antidepressants. He took them without complaint, and when she was done, her skin glowing, he almost smiled:

“Thank you…”

“Do not worry, Richard. I am glad to be here for you. And now, let us go flying. I missed exploring the sky with you.”

Dick didn’t have to be asked twice.

There was something warm inside his chest when he hovered next to Kory watching over Blüdhaven. It almost felt like happiness.

Over the next few weeks, Dick called Kory quite often asking her to fly. They weren’t calls made out of desperation, however, they were calls of joy. Kory said she enjoyed their time together, and Dick did his best to drown out the cruel voices in his head telling him that he was only using her.

It was hard to enjoy even the simplest things sometimes, but whenever the doubt became too much, Nightwing called Red Arrow or Troja or the Flash to help him patrol Blüdhaven – his friends were good at being louder than Dick’s head, and Barbara’s voice in his ear did its best to make him feel loved.

He still wasn’t sure what he and Barbara were exactly, their romance was a fickle thing, but Dick could feel them growing closer again, and he knew he still loved her.

After a particularly fun flight with Kory – they had “stood” on top of the Washington Monument to catch their breath – Dick asked her if Babs could fly with them one day, and Kory smiled and said yes.

It wasn’t really a date, and it wasn’t at all perfect, but Babs’s and Kory’s elated laughter, as the floor dropped away, would always stay with Dick.

Sometimes it just felt good to make other people happy. Robin had made others smile – Dick was trying his best to turn Nightwing into something similar.

Watching Babs laugh, and Kory snicker, seeing Wally snort and Roy grunt… Dick could almost believe it was possible.

It really helped that a routine started to establish itself. Dick rejoined the Titans – had he even left them? Who knows – and with each moment he spent next to Garth lounging on the couch on a day off, the more he felt like himself again. Maybe the drugs and Dinah were helping too.

But movie nights got reestablished and Dick did his best not to think of Jason when he snuggled with Babs, while a thriller played in front of him.

The routine helped settle him. Dick had a job, and friends, a night-job and a “hobby” and thanks to efforts at healing… he felt better. But feeling better brought other side effects.

And Dick hated them.

When he’d been at the bottom, when Dinah and Kory and Babs and Donna and Roy and Garth and Wally had saved his life… Dick had been so deep inside his own head, Jason had just been another layer of guilt.

The personal horror of losing his brother had been drowned out by all the other horrible emotions Dick lived through daily. But now he was doing better. Now Dick was facing his nightmares and the shit he had survived… and that meant Jason came back as well.

He saw him in Titans Tower, remembering the few times Jason had accompanied him there. He saw him in his own reflections in the morning, when Dick forced himself to shave. He saw Jason’s energy reflected in the sports prosthesis Dick used to go for runs – that one had always been Jason’s favorite one, since it looked like a Transformer according to the boy.

Dick felt as if he was realizing the depths of Jason’s death for the very first time.

The boy had been dead for nine months… and the horror of that fact only really caught up with Dick now. It felt different than the first time he had grieved Jason, more distant but somehow more painful at the same time.

It wasn’t a brother he grieved when he saw the candy brand Jason loved… it was Jason’s future Dick cried over. Jason never got to grow old, and just as Dick stopped wanting to die, he realized what a horrible tragedy that was.

Jason had deserved the world – and Dick finally had the mental capacity to grasp that.

It was Barbara, who looked at him two weeks after he broke down crying during a Pixar movie Dick suddenly remembered Jason loved, and said:

“Maybe we should… Maybe we should go and visit Jason’s grave?”

Dick agreed.

He had pushed the memory of Jason’s death away where he could, and yet it always haunted him. He was dealing – or trying to deal – with the immense sorrow that came from losing a brother, but with each day that passed without change, without healing, it became more obvious that Dick was stagnant.

He was so desperate to move on, and yet he was the person holding himself back.

Seeing Jason’s name etched into sandstone on the Wayne family graveyard felt like a slap to the face. It was real – and after ten months, Dick could no longer lie to himself. His little brother was dead. Dick had cried and grieved and fallen.

It was time he made another step towards life. It was time Dick moved on.

Babs was waiting in the car. Her eyes had said it all. This was something Dick would have to do alone. This was something that belonged only to him and Jason.

The sun was shining, the weather cold, the grass green… and Dick was crying as he said:

“Hey, Jay… long time no see. Sorry, I couldn’t be here for your funeral. I was in space. That’s pretty cool, huh? But not as cool as… sorry, I wasn’t here for you. Sorry, I couldn’t keep my promise. Heck, I am even sorry that you and Bruce fought this much… I…”

This was a mess.

For a moment Dick allowed himself to center himself, his face angled towards the sun, and then he forced a smile onto his lips, cheeks still wet with tears:

“I would have loved to see you grow up. I would have… maybe you’d already be taller than I am now. You were pretty close to your growth spurt after all… I love you, Jay. And I am sorry I could only come now. From now on… I’ll visit more. Tell you all about my life. All about the world.”

When Dick returned to the car an hour later, he felt lighter… as if a heavy weight had left his chest, flying away with stretched wings and new freedom.

The urge to simply fly away himself was smaller than it had been in a long, long time.

Dick was the one who told Dinah about the guilt one day, about the crushing weight that overcame Dick when he made a mistake, or when one of his friends got hurt. He told her about the fear he carried with him – and about that nagging voice that told him everything was his fault.

Dinah looked at him, and said: “We are heroes, a guilt complex is nothing new” and then she told him ways to deal with it. Ways to center his heart and trust his friends.

And at the end of that particular session, Dinah had looked at him and said:

“And you know why I told you what I did? Because everyday when I go out there and kick some ass, I have to deal with my own guilt. My goal is to… be okay with the person I am by the end of the day. Maybe one day that can be your goal as well – right now, we’ll work on you accepting guilt as a part of yourself.”

It was worth thinking about.

Another night not that much later found Dick and Babs falling into bed with each other, struggling, only for Dick to break down laughing because “Between the two of us we have one good leg”. It was Barbara, who laughed so hard she cried. It was the two of them together.

Jason’s first death day had come and gone (and Dick had spent it in bed crying and sobbing and falling apart – and then standing up again to clean the kitchen and to allow Donna and Roy into his apartment).

Dick’s twenty-first birthday had come and gone (and Dick had spent it surrounded by friends, making out with Babs, while Garth and Roy danced something faintly resembling a tango).

Dick was an adult now – and Nightwing had existed for almost three years by now. It was high time the Justice League recognized him. Still, Dick had been surprised when Superman had called him (and Dick immediately set a reminder on his phone to call Uncle Clark and Aunt Lois more often) with an offer for an official Justice League mission. Sanctioned and all. Dick would get paid for this – or, well, at least his expenses would get paid for, which was more than he could say for Teen Titans missions or his own business as Nightwing.

Lex Luthor had planted killer devices in almost fifty cities around the globe, and Dick was working with Wally – the Flash, and they really grew up too fast, didn’t they? – but Clark was the one who offered Dick to fly him to their designated city.

Dick would never say no to a chance to fly, his heart soaring high as they left the earth behind. His mind was already battle ready, his escrima ready and charged, but for a moment Dick was nine again, flying with fucking Superman for the very first time.

It was especially funny since Dick knew how happy Clark was as well – Dick was rather proud of his title as favorite nephew of the superhero community. Once they reached London, Clark was cautious to set him down in midst of all this chaos, Wally already a red blur accessing the situation.

Dick could smell the smoke and danger, his adrenaline spiking in the face of a battle. Dick had missed this – battles in Blüdhaven happened on street level, bloody and ugly, but not particularly glorious. The Teen Titans – or just Titans, now that all of them were adults – worked in space and in chaos of the weird kind.

The Justice League… there was something different in the air when Dick got to fight with the heroes that had started it all.

That didn’t mean that Dick wasn’t still horrified by the things Luthor’s devices had done. It just meant, there was a special kind of energy surging through his veins as he took in his surroundings.

Clark was still hovering above them, and Dick made sure he was smiling when he yelled:

“What're you still doing here, Big Blue? Don’t you have your own city to save?”

Clark’s answer came immediately:

“Of course – break a leg! _ Oh _ -“

For a moment the world stood still, the only sound Clark’s shocked face, as Dick answered:

“I sure hope not. I have only one left, after all.”

Dick was laughing by the time Clark flew away, horror on his face. Dick was only clutching his escrima tighter – there were quite a few killer robots he had to beat up.

(Wally was laughing in the background and Dick felt whole – they saved the city and Dick hadn’t felt this good in a long, long time)

When Dick was finally well enough to call Dr. Quinn and then Dr. Romanova he weathered their yells and quips and barbs without problem. And when they expressed their concern and how much they had missed him, he bore that as well.

He drove to Gotham to meet with them. He got another slap on the hand when Dr. Quinn saw the state of his well-used – aka overused – protheses, and Dr. Romanova was almost ready to kill him when she saw the pressure points on his stump.

And yet they both still liked him.

It was their third meeting, the design of his new protheses on the way, when Dick turned towards Dr. Romanova on their way out and said:

“You were right.”

“I always am – so you might have to be a bit more exact, while trying to stroke my ego and compliment my genius.”

Her voice was as rough as always, as mean and soft as Dick had come to know it, so he simply continued, unperturbed by her banter:

“The very first time we talked, when I was seventeen and you made me cry a month after I lost my leg… you were right. I like my protheses, especially the sport ones… but I think I like myself without them as well. Maybe even more so. And that is pretty radical of me, if I may say so myself.”

Dick knew he must be imagining the tears in her eyes. Women like Dr. Romanova didn’t cry – they fought bears with their bare hands. And yet here she was, a single tear catching the light of the café they had met in.

“70s slang doesn’t suit you, kid… but I am glad to hear that my fine pedagogical moment didn’t traumatize you for life. You deserve good things, kid. And you deserve a world that cares.”

If Dick was crying as well, when they finally stepped outside, nobody needed to know.

Without anyone noticing… Dick Grayson started to like himself again.

And while many people watched… he started to become the hero they had known he could be.

Nightwing was no longer something Dick hid behind – Nightwing was what Dick Grayson could be. Should be.

Nightwing was a hero – and so was Dick.

Dick wanted to go to bed. It had been a long day, and nothing sounded sweeter than his shitty mattress and the mountain of blankets Garth had gifted him. Being a bartender was hell on his foot and back. The muscles in his leg ached just from standing all day, and his stump demanded a massage and lots of lotion.

But Nightwing hadn’t been out in a week now, it was high time the hero got sighted again. Which meant a quick shower would have to do – it was all he was going to get before he returned from patrol. No bed for him, as much as it was going to suck.

Dick was sure his bed was looking at him sadly, as he passed it by to get to his suit.

A knock on his door interrupted his efforts to ready NOPE, however. Instead, he stashed his gear behind the couch – not the best hiding place, but all Dick could do in a haste - and made his way to the door. It was dark outside. Nobody in their right mind would conquer Blüdhaven at this time. Maybe it was one of his neighbors? Sally from down the hall sometimes asked him for cooking ingredients she had missed while out shopping.

A quick look through the spyhole told him a different story though: Outside stood a child. A child he had never seen before.

He opened the door.

“How can I help you?”

The kid stared at him with a complicated expression and for a moment Dick wasn’t sure if he had scared him or not. The boy was tiny. He didn’t need to be frightened on top of it. Big blue eyes fixated on Dick, and that was all the warning he got before the kid started talking. Well, nothing could have prepared for the amount of words that left the boy’s mouth – or the content of said words:

“Hello! My name is Tim Drake! I live next door to Bruce Wayne. And… and I know that he is Batman. And that you are Nightwing. I followed you. At night, I mean. And not you directly, but like, the second Robin. And… Batman… Batman needs Robin again. You have to return to Gotham. It needs you!”

Dick stared at the child. Stared at Tim Drake, who had just spilled the best kept secret in the world. 

Dick wasn’t sure what it was - the fierceness in the kid’s eyes, or the shock at the truths spilled - but for once in his life he didn’t lie. He didn’t gaslight the kid, or force some lie past his lips. Dick was completely honest when he answered: 

“I am not going to be Robin again. That name is no longer mine.”

He would never be Robin again. Never fly next to Batman like that. But maybe it was time to grace Gotham with a visit. Maybe it was time he showed his face at the Manor again. But first:

“Why don’t you come inside, Tim? I am sure we can figure something out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, Bookmarks and Kudos make me VERY happy!!! <3  
> (and for the DickBabs shippers... there might be a spicy One Shot waiting for you)

**Author's Note:**

> If you want a One-Shot or wish to see a special scene that would have taken place in the time frame of this chapter please tell me in the comments and I am going to write it!


End file.
